


Our New Present

by sailtheplains



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: AU, F/M, In Hushed Whispers, Redcliffe, Solas was a spirit, Theories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-07-27 00:11:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7595713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailtheplains/pseuds/sailtheplains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So if the amulet didn't work and Dorian and the Inquisitor <i>were</i> stuck in their new present...wow, how drastically different things would have to be. And how quickly you'd find out about Solas, given the circumstances.</p><p>Also, playing around with a theory I had one night about the origin of elves.</p><p> </p><p>Thought it was a cool idea, so I just started noodling the idea down.</p><p>---</p><p>Rating is mostly for violence until part 4, which is when pairing stuff starts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He Calls Himself Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mark was like a lighthouse. Spirits nearby could see it in the Fade. Word spread quickly among them, as it were, attracting the attention of a spirit. 
> 
> He became aware very suddenly in the Fade, listening. Something had disturbed the other spirits, they clustered and flickered somewhere else. A whisper of a dream of a mortal with a glowing hand. Many remembered her from a year ago, when she closed rifts and tried to help spirits. And he had watched, mostly because Leliana was at her side. 

Dorian stared stupidly at the amulet. 

Tam stared too. “It—we didn’t—“

“It didn’t work,” said the mage. “It—it didn’t work. I don’t understand.”

“Well—try again!”

The amulet shattered. Dorian gave her a horrified look. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

The Herald whirled around. “Leliana! We gotta go!”

The spymaster looked back. “He knows you’re here!”

“The amulet shattered.” She raced down the steps, slamming a shield down around Leliana and blasting the doors open.

Solas and Varric and the others turned around.

“Get in here!” Tam commanded. “We gotta go right fucking now!”

“It didn’t work?” Solas surmised, hurrying back through the doors. 

Blackwall and Iron Bull closed them and jammed them. 

“What do we do?” Sera demanded.

“I…uh…we…” Tam cast around, trying to think. The dragon was screaming, the demons were coming.

“Use the Mark!” Solas commanded.

“What?”

Solas hurried up to her, flipping her palm over. “This doesn’t just close rifts, it opens them too. Hurry. Open a rift.”

“Going through a rift could kill all of us,” Vivienne snapped.

“Have you another choice?” Solas snapped. “Do it. Touch the essence of the Fade. The Veil is still partially present here. It is very easy to reach and manipulate with the correct tool. Which you have.”

Tam reached out and tried to calm her thoughts, reaching for the Veil. She could feel it, fragmented and shredded but still there. She touched it and the Mark pulsed, racking her with pain. The doors rumbled as something slammed against it on the other side.

“Now would be good!” Varric called.

“I’m working on it!”

Solas grabbed her shoulder to steady her, flooding her with his own magic to stabilize the Mark. The air around them imploded and ripped open. Tam stared at it. “How does this even still work?”

“Go!” Solas commanded as the others rushed around them. “Hurry, Herald!” He shoved her forward, pushing her into the Rift.

Tam fell, plummeting down towards a barren cluster of trees and stopping in place a foot above the ground, then slamming into it. Iron Bull hit next to her, heralding a rain of her companions. She jumped up and grabbed into the tear, sewing it back together with her will.

The others were trying to get up.

Tam stared around them. “Where are we?”

“The world is now partially influenced by the Fade. In theory, rifts can be doorways. I take it you didn’t think of a specific place to go?” Solas said.

“No…I didn’t.”

“So, we are….” He looked around. “Somewhere.”

“Can the Elder One find us here?”

“I don’t know,” Solas answered.

“What happened!” Leliana demanded.

“It should have worked,” Dorian said. “It…but it didn’t. It shattered.” He opened his palm, showing them the shards of the amulet clutched in his fist.

“All right,” said Varric. “Okay…that. That's bad. Okay. Uh. We need to get out of the open. We can find an entrance into the Deep Roads and explain what happened. You’re not gonna wanna hear most of it—but…” Varric looked up at the sky. “Can’t even see the sun anymore. Andraste in an apple cart,” he sighed. 

Dorian dug into his pockets, tucking away the broken amulet for safekeeping. He picked up a withered stick from the ground and charged it with magic. “North,” he said to it. 

The stick trembled and then spun before settling above his palm.

“Which end is north?” Varric asked.

Dorian huffed. “This one,” he said, pointing to one side. “Which way should we be going?” he asked Leliana.

The spymaster looked at Cassandra. “South. As south as we can.”

“What happened to Cullen? And Josephine?” Tam asked.

Leliana glanced away. “We don’t know. Cullen rallied everyone he could to try to take Redcliffe Castle after you were...killed. He failed. We were both at the last battle. I was captured. He disappeared.”

“Hey! There’s a cave over here!” Sera called over, kicking a clump of something vaguely furry-looking away. 

En masse, the group went to her, heading into the cave. 

“We may be able to find an entrance to the Deep Roads,” Cassandra said. “If we can—we should travel underground as much as we can.”

“Wait—what? What about darkspawn?” Tam asked, lighting a torch of Veil Fire for them.

Varric glanced at Solas. “There….are no darkspawn anymore.”

Tam stared at him. “What? What do you mean? There are just….none? No darkspawn?”

“You wanna take over here, Chuckles?” Varric asked, turning away to head deeper into the cave.

“Yes, let him tell her what he _really_ is,” Vivienne scowled and turned to follow with the others.

Tam looked at him, lifting an eyebrow.

Solas walked beside her and Dorian. “….I am an elf.”

Tam raised an eyebrow. “…yeah?”

“But not in the way you think.”

“What does that mean?”

Solas took a deep breath. “I was a spirit."

Tam started. "Wh--huh?"

"More than a thousand years ago, I was summoned by Mythal. She was not a god like the elves believed in this time—simply an extremely powerful mage. As were the rest of the pantheon. They were mortals. I was summoned to…advise, as it were. And like most spirits, I took on a mortal form—a mage.”

Tam stared at him. “How is that….even….possible?”

“It has always been possible,” he said. “It was before the Veil existed. Then, it was easy for spirits to inhabit the world, as common as trees or grass. The strongest of us could take mortal forms. We served powerful mages, as advisers, teachers and friends. Not unlike the Avvar of the Frostback Basin or the Rivaini seers of the north.”

“…so…you were a spirit who took on a mortal form and served Mythal….”

“Many spirits did this. But…they wanted a way to differentiate regular mortals from spirits who had _become_ mortal. So we developed our….distinctive ears.”

Tam stopped walking. “Wait….w-wait…you’re….”

“This is why when a human and an elf produce a child—the child never has elven features. The elves you know are descendants of spirits who became mortals. It was unknown, then, that our kind could produce children. But when spirits who became fully mortal did so…they were found to be very adept and sensitive to magic. They…could recognize the rhythm of the elven language without knowing the vocabulary. They had inherent knowledge. The mortals wanted children like that. Spirits became afraid of mortals taking away their children or forcing them to bear half-mortal, half-spirit children. So in a bid to protect them, the Evanuris came up with a plan to mark them with elaborate tattooing on their faces. It was developed by June. But it was blood magic. And instead of protecting the spirits, it bound them to whichever Evanuris they were marked with.”

Tam reached up, touching her own tattoos. “….they were slaves.”

Suddenly, every single argument between Solas and Dorian made sense. 

_But…spirits can’t perform magic._

_Oh, excuse me. I thought you were talking about your slaves._

Beside her, Dorian staggered. He touched the wall of the cave, stopping to breath. The same thought had just occurred to him. 

“I served Mythal as her adviser willingly. Thus, she never saw fit to have me marked. Some…could not adapt to the blood magic involved with the _Vallaslin_. They were warped and so the Evanuris simply cast them out. They became darkspawn.”

“I’m sorry—wait a second,” Tam said, taking a deep breath and dragging her hand down her face. “So. All elves—all of us with pointed ears—we are descendants of…spirits who became mortals. The first ones, who appeared human-like but smaller, with the pointed ears. They formed the pointed ears to differentiate themselves from humans. Those who became fully mortal found that they could produce children that were completely mortal but with…..their magic and their lifespans.”

“Yes.”

“So elves did not even exist as a race…until spirits began to take mortal forms permanently.”

“Yes.”

“Then the Evanuris tricked them, telling them that the _Vallaslin_ would protect them from being harmed by other mortals but it just bound the spirits to them instead.”

“Of course, not all could be found. Some changed their features to match humans, if they could. That is why most bloodlines in mortals have the potential for magic. When I discovered this, I left. The _Vallaslin_ is blood magic. Spirits have no blood—not as mortals do. They have something else.”

“Oh my god,” Tam said softly. “Lyrium.”

“Yes.”

“What!” Dorian exclaimed. “That—that can’t be…that…”

“Have you ever noticed how many things in this world…if you attempt them, will kill most and the rest gain powers. Werewolves, the Grey Wardens, Templars….lyrium is poison in large amounts to all mortals, regardless of race. The essence of spirits—the _blood_ in a way—is lyrium.”

“…because lyrium is alive…” Tam felt like she was falling, trying to absorb everything.

“Mages originally ingested it, finding that taking the essence of spirits boosted their magic….”

“…because magic originally came from spirits?”

“Yes.”

“So then why are there no more darkspawn?” Dorian asked. “If darkspawn originated from spirits corrupted by blood magic….”

“Darkspawn don’t think, they are mindless and destructive. With the Veil mostly gone and the Breach now encompassing most of the sky—the darkspawn…seem to have simply disappeared. They may have been driven deep underground, where there is still raw spirit essence left over from when the world formed. They are as someone in the last stages of lyrium addiction. But some—were seen coming to the surface. With the Veil almost gone…they…seem to have simply died.”

“Just…” Tam snapped her fingers. “Boom, dead?”

“So it seems. As if they simply left their ruined bodies to escape back into the Fade. Do you remember when I told you—that the Fade was once a state of being, like the wind? Bound by blood magic, they could no longer change at will or enter the Fade. They were trapped here. Without the Veil…they are free. Many came to the surface and they died by the thousands. But….there must also be some deep underground. Because it was likely these darkspawn that corrupted lyrium into the red variety. Likely, the darkspawn initially desired a way to change back to their spirit forms. They went down deep into the earth and tried ingesting raw lyrium. It drove them mad—because of the shackle of mortal blood magic—and when they died, their corruption tainted the raw lyrium into red lyrium. Blood lyrium, you might say.”

“That’s why people who are near it for too long turn into blood lyrium….it corrupts any lyrium inside of them—so anyone who uses lyrium, like Templars, or _any_ mage at all is highly susceptible to it—while people who don’t use it, like non-mages or dwarves, are only….moderately susceptible?”

“That seems to be the case, in general,” Solas said. “But I have not been free in some time. Some of this is speculation. What I can only presume is happening. Dwarves, after all, seem just as susceptible to red lyrium as all other mortals do.”

“Or in the case of Batrand and I,” Varric said, where he was building a small fire, “more than others. The idol we found in the Deep Roads was influencing him before we even found it. Once he touched it—it was all over.”

“So….Corypheus wanted this mark….to create….a world where no one would…use the essence, the blood—of spirits.”

“Almost makes him sound tragic,” Dorian said softly, putting his forehead in his hand.

“So he might have been one of these spirits that was corrupted by the blood magic and then cast out by the Evanuris?”

“It’s very similar to stories about Xebenkeck.”

Dorian lifted his head. “One of the Forbidden Ones?”

“In one of the great spirit libraries, there is an archive of memories, _For abandoning the People in their time of greatest need, for casting aside form to flee to where the earth could not reach, we declare Xebenkeck and others of her ilk exiled from the lands of the Evanuris. Beware! Their familiarity with shape allows them to travel paths unaided. They may be bound, but only the protection of your gods will fully shield you from their malice. They are forbidden from the earth that is our right._ ” Solas stayed standing, watching Tam sit down on a boulder. “They were spirits who could take on mortal forms. When they were bound with the mortals’ blood magic, they were corrupted and cast out. The rest is propaganda.”

Tam covered her face with her hands. “Okay. Okay. This day is not going well.” She chuckled. “Wow, so that’s why you said mankind was most ‘trying’ of all, huh? Because you weren’t a mortal. You’re a spirit. Of what? Wisdom?”

“Turned to Pride, perhaps. Hence my name.”

“Can you turn back into a spirit?”

“No. I have been mortal for too long.”

“So when you fled the Evanuris….where did you go?”

“Oh, this is my favorite part,” Vivienne said, sourly.

Solas looked away. “I spent much time figuring out how to remove the _Vallaslin_ from spirits who had been tricked or bound by force into their mortal elven forms. And then…I thought that…were I to separate the Fade from the world then my….people—spirits—would be safe.”

Tam’s mouth fell open.

“Are you….saying you created the Veil?” Dorian said, gaping at him.

“Yes.”

“Wow. Wow.” Tam put her head in her hands. “Wow. This day. This day is shit. Wow. Holy fucking shit. Oh wow. Okay. Um. Wow. This is a lot to swallow.”

“Let it sink in before we leave this cave,” Varric told her quietly. “It’s only going to get worse when you see what’s happened outside.”

“That being said—you are the only reason we were able to escape,” Leliana said. “There is still a chance. Together, we might be able to do something.”

“Oh, I’ve never fought a fucking darkspawn, corrupted demon…god…thing before. But fuck me, I’m ready to fucking party,” Tam said to her boots, not looking at any of them. “I’m so sorry to _all_ of you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. I should have listened to Cullen when he didn’t want to let me go.”

“And what about all of you….” Dorian said softly. “You’re….”

“We’re all corrupted now,” Cassandra said softly. “We will all die soon, very likely.”

“You can’t….” Tam said, teeth gritted. “You fucking can’t. Not until I fix this. I forbid it.”

Cassandra looked at her boots quietly. 

Dorian reached out, gently touching Tam’s shoulder. 

“So you knew this was going to happen?” Tam asked softly, looking up at Solas. “That’s why you were so near the Conclave? You knew that this Elder One was going to murder thousands of people so he could use some…artifact to tear open the Veil? Is that what I’m hearing here?”

Solas glanced away. “Yes. The artifact he had….was mine.”

“Son of a bitch. Son of _bitch_ , Solas! Bet you’re regretting that _now_ , asshole!”

“For what it’s worth….yes. I do regret it.”

“It’s not worth fucking _shit_!” She snapped at him, jumping up. She held up her glowing hand to his face. “So this was supposed to be yours, huh? Fuck!” She threw her hands up, turning in a circle and then putting her palms on her hips. 

“I wanted to reclaim what our people have lost.”

“Our people? Ours? Are you fucking _kidding_ me?! How are you even _my_ people? I didn’t even fucking _know_! What were you going to go, huh? Wipe out all the mortals to ensure spirits could be free to have the earth or something? Use the mortals’ blood to—what? Restore demons or darkspawn or whatever back to their original forms? I can’t imagine that _this_ bullshit was all part of your plan, at least, right?”

Solas did not meet her eyes, looking sad and sorrowful. “….it wasn’t.”

“Well, at least for that then.” She swore softly. 

“All right,” Dorian said, standing up. “Tam, come sit. We need to know the political situation. What happened to Orlais? Ferelden? Empress Celene and King Alistair? The Tevinter magisterium. What happened?”

“Nothing happened that you want to hear about,” Blackwall said, morosely.

“Well, too fucking bad!” Tam snapped. “We need to know. So somebody start before I lose my shit completely.”

Varric and Iron Bull did so. They were the only two besides Vivienne who seemed calm. 

The Empress dead. King Alistair disappeared. Tevinter utterly razed. Nevvara, Seheron, Antiva and Rivain all darkness. 

Afterwards, Tam got up. “I need to go for a minute. I’ll. I’ll be back.” She walked away from the fire, trying to contain herself and completely unable by the time she reached the cave entrance. She sat down by the rock in a shadow, staring up at the scorched sky. 

_We are so fucked._

 

 

 

The Mark was like a lighthouse. Spirits nearby could see it in the Fade. Word spread quickly among them, as it were, attracting the attention of a spirit. 

He became aware very suddenly in the Fade, listening. Something had disturbed the other spirits, they clustered and flickered somewhere else. A whisper of a dream of a mortal with a glowing hand. Many remembered her from a year ago, when she closed rifts and tried to help spirits. And he had watched, mostly because Leliana was at her side. 

_Leliana…_

He whisked through the Fade, traveling and flying or maybe running. He wasn’t sure anymore. Just that he could hear Leliana singing in his head sometimes if he listened hard enough. Sometimes it was hard to know if he was still himself. He had fully expected to die….and he did. Sort of. Right back into the Fade. But now everything was confused. If he could just…clear his head…

He saw the pinprick of glowing light. She was being…hidden, almost. By other spirits. Demons were looking for her and the ones she was with. The other spirits dimmed her light.

And that was how the Hero of Ferelden found the Herald of Andraste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Exile
> 
>  
> 
> How to explore the deep Fade : The line "our brethren of the air" indicates a hint that all spirits could once be like Cole and manifest physical forms.  
> 


	2. Thaig Walkers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen approached first. “Is something wrong?”
> 
> The refugees turned to look at him. He recognized something….something painfully _hopeful_ in their faces.
> 
> “We’ve just had news,” said a dwarf, who gestured for the circle of people around him to expand. “A roadrunner from the Aeducan Thaig arrived half an hour ago. There was some kind of attack at Redcliffe.”

Hawke refilled her pipe with hash. The brothel was quiet, lights dimmed. The Pacing Bear was deep underground in an old dwarven thaig. With the mass darkspawn deaths, the humans and other mortals who survived the initial cull by the Elder One fled underground. It reminded Hawke of Kirkwall, in a way. The lack of sunlight, the tired, drawn faces and plenty of strife and crime. 

The dwarves in Orzammar had been able to defend from the Elder One the longest. The surface was purged first, giving the dwarves time to mount a defense. As surfacers flooded into the Deep Roads, they either joined up to assist or they kept going, taking their chances against the darkspawn. Most did not survive once the dragons awoke beneath the surface. Those who banded with the dwarves evacuated with them when Orzammar fell. The dwarves were able to guide many into older thaigs—which is when they discovered that the darkspawn were dying. No one could explain why—but no one complained either. The thaigs were such a maze of broken roads and ruins that they were able to lose themselves in the dark. Corypheus’ forces could not follow.

Not that they hadn’t tried. But the dwarves excelled at dismantling their own architecture when the situation called for it. They were as trapped as they were safe, however. Destroying roads and bridges kept the Elder One’s people away—but it also cut them off from the surface. Hundreds died within the first six months from starvation. Some went mad from the darkness. Others, like Hawke, found ways above or assisted with magic in growing food. 

She could do both, being a mage. But she scraped most of her living by venturing out into the Deep Roads to scavenge supplies or search for alternate entrances. Or when word came that some of Corypheus’ forces were probing around, she and other mercenaries would go out to find them. They learned quickly how to fight in the dark. And they always took a dwarf with them. They still had their Stone sense, after all.

It made her think of Varric. She had no idea where he was or what had happened to him. On his birthday, she lit a candle for him by a small statue someone had erected near the center of Deeptown. Most used it to remember the dead. She didn’t have much hope of ever finding him again. 

A prostitute sauntered up to her table. He was big and burly—likely a mercenary whenever he wasn’t whoring. He lifted a dark eyebrow and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Someone at the bar said you brought back fifteen scalps of the shitscum that came down here for their Elder One.”

Hawke nodded quietly, looking at her pipe.

“You deserve a freebie for that, Thaig Walker.”

“Do I qualify as a Thaig Walker now?”

“I’d say so, Walker.”

“Who am I to refuse then,” Hawke said and stood up. The man took her hand and led her through the filthy brothel. It reminded her a lot of the Hanged Man—only darker. The sounds were the same though. Some people crying, dicing, drinking or fighting. Others fucking behind closed doors—taking their pleasure where they could. 

The man led Hawke to a dilapidated little room. She should have felt sickened by the smell or the mold or a hundred other little things. But she didn’t.

It hardly mattered. 

All that mattered was surviving. And the man who towered over her, who took control when she told him to and he shoved her down on a rickety bed and plunged inside of her. He fucked her to exhaustion—helping her sleep soundly for the first time in a long while. 

It was sort of nice, she supposed, if folks in Deeptown thought she was a Thaig Walker. Some mercenaries had banded together, forming a loose band of fighters. No one actually joined, per se. Counts were simply kept from those who ventured to the surface or into the Deep Roads and brought back supplies—or scalps from Corypheus’ little bitches. When you hit a certain amount—you could call yourself a Thaig Walker. She’d hit her count a month ago—but she didn’t much give a shit. When she brought back supplies, she kept what she needed and gave the rest to people in Deeptown. Most were willing to trade things for body armor and weapons—usually traps or poisons. One dwarf had given her a handsome leather utility belt and a staff of silverite in exchange for a complete set of a Captain’s armor. An elf had given her food in exchange for five lyrium potions she found on a dead mage. 

The real ticket was finding the live chickens. She’d discovered a dozen of them on the surface and stuffed them into a sack. When she got back to Deeptown, she let the owner of the Pacing Bear take care of them. In exchange, she got a room here permanently and everyone got eggs. They were loud. And they smelled like shit. But a dozen hens could produce a lot of eggs in a week. Half were set aside to develop into chicks and the Pacing Bear now made a steady business of providing food. As well as prostitutes, mercenaries and assassins.

Wow, it really _did_ remind her of Kirkwall. Specifically, Lowtown.

The next day, Hawke ventured out into Deeptown’s square. A board was placed there, with a torch of Veil Fire burning next to it. Tacked all over were notes and rumors from those who lived in Deeptown. 

Grey Wardens were rumored to be in Cadash Thaig. There was a going reward for anyone who could reach it and make contact with them. Carta had probably seen them—they were good like that. 

“Hey, birdface!”

Hawke looked over and brightened. “Nasha! What’s up?”

The Qunari woman smiled and clapped her on the shoulder. “Heading out?”

“Maybe—just saw this—Grey Warden rumors in Cadash Thaig.”

“No shit,” said the Qunari, reading the notice. “Well, if you’re going—I’m game.”

“I wouldn’t mind, Nash—need someone who can lift heavy things.”

“I’m not carrying _you_.”

“Fuck you, bitch.”

They both laughed. 

“It’ll take the better part of three weeks to reach Cadash Thaig—if the roads haven’t been destroyed,” said a voice, as Fredrick Trevelyan joined them. He was a Grey Warden from the Free Marches. 

“Oh, I was just about to ask where Nasha’s arm candy was, Rick.”

“Ugh, no. He’s too small,” Nasha objected.

“Stop,” Rick complained. “You guys suck.”

“Well, let’s get us a dwarf then. We need some solid Stone sense,” Hawke said. "Solid Stone sense--say that five times fast."

“I think Radast is back,” Nasha said. “Come on.” She led them to another rundown bar. 

Radast was a burly dwarf with a thick matt of black hair and piercing grey eyes. He waved Nasha down. “Figured you’d be by. You taking Candy to Cadash Thaig?”

Frederick rolled his eyes. “Dammit.”

Nasha just laughed. “We’d like to—but he’s so delicate, you know.”

“I hate you guys so much,” Rick informed them.

“But we need some of that Stoner sense,” Hawke said, sitting down across from Radast. “You in? There are supposed to be Wardens there. They know all the hot ways to get into the Deep Roads.”

“And if they’re not Wardens?”

“If they’re Elder bitches then we scalp them and take their shit,” Nasha laughed. “I’m about to hit my Thaig Walker count.”

“All right. Sounds good. Leave tomorrow?”

“Yep—or—however you know when tomorrow is. Meet in about eight hours. Give us some time to rest and get some stuff together? We can ask around and see if any Thaig Walkers wanna do a run with us,” Hawke suggested, pushing a pinch of hash into Radast’s pipe.

“You’re a true friend, Hawke. Especially when you share your hash,” said Radast, lighting the hash. “Meet you in the square.”

 

 

Eight hours later, Hawke met the other three in the square. The dim light of Veil Fire cast eerie shadows over them, making Nasha’s horns glow. She had two greatswords strapped to her back. Rick had a pole-arm with a wicked blade attached to it. Radast had two war axes and Hawke had a glaive, imbued like a mage’s staff so she could use it as a focus tool.

“Hawke—this is Max—he’s a rogue and he’s got updated maps,” Radast said, gesturing to his side, where an wiry, rugged elf was standing with a longbow strapped to his back.

“Ooo, nice. How updated?”

The elf named Max pulled out a scroll. “I just got back from the Dead Trenches two days ago.” 

“Awesome,” Hawke said, scanning his maps. “So it looks like we can cut around Orzammar to the south and go right into Caridin’s Cross now?”

“Yeah, there’s a little settlement there called Caridin’s Dust—some of their miners built an alternate route so no one would have to venture too close to Orzammar. That’s Elder territory now.”

“All right, Max, you’re in. You’re a rogue—just the bow or knives too or what?”

“Both. I was a crack shot among the Dalish with a bow.”

“He could also steal your underwear while you’re wearing ‘em and make you think you lost ‘em,” said Radast.

“Awesome,” Hawke laughed.

Max also had a wolf with him that he’d apparently raised underground. Her name was Toth. She smelled all of them and then went back to the elf’s side. It made Hawke miss her mabari hound.

They headed out into the Deep Roads.

 

 

 

Alistair, former King of Ferelden, awoke with a jerk. He shuddered, skin prickling from sweat and cold cave air. He couldn’t pin down what had woken him. Maybe it was his Warden senses? 

“Alistair?” Cullen Rutherford asked him, sitting by the fire.

“I’m fine. Something…it must have been a dream,” Alistair said, getting to his feet. He walked over to Cullen. “All quiet?”

“Yes. Just some deepstalkers below us but otherwise—nothing.”

“We should be getting close to a settlement,” Alistair said, dragging his pack over and opening it up to pull out a rudimentary map. “This close to the surface…”

“Well, the entrance to this section of the Deep Roads was underwater—maybe no one uses it anymore. It could be we simply received bad information.”

Alistair sighed. “I hope we find something. Even if its other Wardens. What a disaster. It’s been officially a year, hasn’t it?”

Cullen nodded. “Yes….I sent Josephine to the Waking Sea with what remained of Bull’s Chargers. I wonder if they made it.” He didn’t sound very hopeful.

Alistair looked at his boots. “Hopefully—maybe we’ll know after we…ha, I was gonna say win. But…I…”

“Yeah,” Cullen agreed quietly.

They both heard the shuffle of boots. Cullen stood up. Minaeve appeared first. Sebastian, the ruling prince of Starkhaven, walked beside her.

“We got a few deepstalkers—they seem to be clean of any taint,” Sebastian said in his light Starkhaven brogue. “And a couple nugs. Still no darkspawn, though. It’s curious how they all seem to have just disappeared.”

“I’ll take it—no darkspawn is good enough for me,” Alistair said, gesturing for the animals so he could start skinning them. 

“You should be resting, Alistair,” Minaeve said quietly. “You’ll take sick again if you don’t.”

“Ah, I couldn’t sleep. Cullen talks to himself too much.”

Cullen chuckled.

Sebastian saw Alistair’s map open and pulled it over to himself, sitting by the fire. “We’re just a few days out from the Dead Trenches, it looks like.”

“We won’t know for sure until we reach them. Without a dwarf—we’re kind of just hoping for the best,” Cullen said. “But if we entered at the right place…we should be close. There ought to be a settlement there now.”

“I’d say some of it looks familiar—but it all looks the same to me, honestly,” Alistair said. “And I only was in the Anvil once. We should have come down to the east of it. So we’ll reach the Dead Trenches and if we can cross still…there’s a road that runs right to Ortan Thaig. The road we’re looking for branches off to the south and goes into Cadash Thaig.”

Cullen and Minaeve helped him skin the nugs and the deepstalkers while Sebastian fletched more arrows for his bow and plotted their route. “What are we hoping the Wardens can do if we find them?”

Alistair shrugged. “Well—what’s kept everyone from fighting back is being separated. I’m hoping we find some Wardens, and they can help us. There’s got to be _something_ we can do. The Herald is dead—so we’re fucked on closing the Breach—at least for now. But there’s got to be something we can do. I wish I knew where Morrigan was. She was a bitch—but she knew more about magic than I ever did.”

“You think she’s still alive?” Cullen asked.

“If anyone is—she is. She has this uncanny ability to get herself out of trouble. And I heard she had a child—and if she was telling the truth…then that child has the soul of an old god. Could be we need the kid. For. I dunno. Something. She might even know where Victor is—if he’s not dead. There were a lot of people after him, even before Corypheus put a bounty on him because he was the Hero of Ferelden.” He sighed. “But it’s all we can do. I won’t sit around and wait for Corypheus to kill us all.”

Minaeve volunteered to take the next watch. Cullen stayed up with her, unable to sleep. She offered to make him witherstalk milk to sedate him—but he declined. Minaeve had been the only one he’d been able to save when the last battle at Redcliffe went so horrifically wrong. He’d sent Josephine away before the last march. If he could have just gotten inside…he’d have torn that magister limb from limb for killing Tam. He still dreamed about her sometimes. Usually it was in the war room at Haven and asking her to take the stupid risk of going to Alexius. He'd _known_ it was a bad, dangerous idea. He'd said as much. And then he turned right around and encouraged it. And, of course, she'd agreed. She was the Herald. She had the Mark. Who else could have gone as the bait? She wanted to prove herself to them. Prove she wasn't guilty, prove she wasn't a coward, prove she was more than just some knife-ear. _And_ she was a mage. _And_ they'd send everyone in her inner circle with her. _And_ the Tevinter mage, Dorian, who supposedly knew all of Alexius' tricks. Surely with all those precautions....but none of them could have accounted for...whatever it was Alexius used. It had left only scorch marks behind and Dorian and Tam were gone. If only he could have gotten inside the castle...if he could have gotten his hands on Alexius....

But it was a lost cause and he sounded the retreat. Corypheus’ dragon killed most of the soldiers. And then the rifts had torn apart those who remained. He’d barely escaped, running across Minaeve in the woods. The two of them fled together and made it to Denerim. Fortunately, King Alistair had recognized him from the Ferelden Circle and they were able to give him a warning. The city evacuated as many people as it could to the Free Marches but rifts were opening faster and faster…and demons came out of them. It was a bloodbath. 

Cullen had stayed with King Alistair and Prince Sebastian, who had been in Denerim to discuss alliance with Ferelden to help provide aid to Kirkwall. He managed to get both rulers out of the city when a rift tore the Denerim market to pieces. So much blood and screaming…

They’d made it all the way to Val Royeaux and discovered the royal city in absolute chaos. Celene was pinned to her own palace, brutalized and dead. Cullen didn’t let them stick around while the city descended into destruction. He made them move on, finally entering the Deep Roads with other refugees. 

Then they headed steadily east, coming across the Anvil of the Void. Some dwarves had holed up there and told them they’d seen a group of Grey Wardens heading for Cadash Thaig. 

And now, here they were, about to cross the Dead Trenches. Most of the tunnels had collapsed but others had built bridges or secured lengths of rope to help travelers cross. Without darkspawn there to destroy their efforts—they seemed to be staying in place. 

It took two days to cross the Trenches—not that anyone had a solid grasp of time underground. On the other side was a small settlement of refugees called Saltbitter. Unlike most settlements, which were quiet—this one was buzzing. It seemed that most of the residents were out in their square, standing by bonfires.

Cullen approached first. “What happened here? Is something wrong?”

The refugees turned to look at him. He recognized something….something painfully _hopeful_ in their faces.

“We’ve just had news,” said a dwarf, who gestured for the circle of people around him to expand to include them. “A roadrunner from the Aeducan Thaig arrived half an hour ago. There was some kind of attack at Redcliffe.”

“What!” Alistair exclaimed.

“They’re saying the Inquisition’s leaders escaped the castle. They’re still alive. They might be the only ones left who can stop the Elder One.”

“Did they say who all was with them?” Cullen asked.

“The runner said word spread all over Redcliffe that Sister Nightingale somehow got them out. The Elder One is enraged—he’s searching the entire area for her. They killed Magister Alexius.”

“Holy shit,” Cullen said softly. He looked at Alistair. 

The king had gone pale. “Ha…Leliana…you were always so resourceful. And here I thought she was just crazy.”

“Do you know how long ago this happened?” Minaeve asked.

The dwarf shook his head. “No one knows for sure. The roadrunner said it took her two weeks to get here. When she was on the surface, she said Redcliffe was buzzing with the news.”

“Where is this roadrunner?” Sebastian asked. “Can we speak to her?”

“She’s stopping here for the night to rest before she heads for the Dead Trenches—she’s at the tavern.”

“Did a group of Wardens come through here on their way to Cadash Thaig?” Cullen asked.

“Aye, yeah,” answered an elf. “They rolled through, what—three weeks ago, I think. Chasing some strange lead that a dwarf had given them. She weren’t a Grey Warden but she seemed to be leading them to something.”

They tried talking to the roadrunner but she couldn’t tell them much besides what the refugees already had. She had been scouting on the surface for supplies and snuck into Redcliffe after dark, finding the whole city buzzing with the news that somehow Sister Nightingale had killed Magister Alexius, freed the Herald's inner circle and escaped. No one was sure how she’d done it—magic, perhaps. Corypheus’ forces were scouring the area with no success. The roadrunner had returned to the Deep Roads immediately to put the word out—that if anyone found the legendary Nightingale—they were to take her in without question. Corypheus could not be allowed to find her or those she traveled with.

“Do you think she might hear about the Wardens?” Alistair mused. “If we heard about them—wherever she ended up, she might head that way too. They had a Grey Warden with them—Blackwall, I think.”

“It’s our best bet,” Sebastian said. “We’d never find her by just going to the surface to look. It’d be a wild nug chase.”

They all had to agree on that, as much as Cullen wanted to run up to the surface and find Leliana—it would be foolish and reckless. He wouldn’t be able to help Leliana at all if he was dead, after all. And Corypheus had standing bounties out on Alistair and Sebastian, as well as Cullen himself and any other Inquisition members that could be found.

They rested in the village and then headed out. It would be another week before they arrived at Cadash Thaig. 

Alistair sighed in relief when he saw the familiar memorial stone. It made him think of Shale. He had to wonder if the stone golem was still alive somewhere with Wynne.

They were stopped almost immediately inside the Thaig by Wardens, who backed off when they recognized Alistair. 

“Who’s in charge of the Wardens here?” Alistair asked the guards.

“Warden-Commander Tabris, milord. He’s inside the common hall with our guides.”

Warden Tabris was a city elf from Denerim. He’d been on the run for almost a decade after he’d killed the son of Arl Howe, who had kidnapped, beaten and raped his fiancé, his cousin, Shianni, and four of their friends. Only his cousin had made it out of the encounter. Izeka Tabris and Shianni's brother, Soris, had carved a bloody swath through Howe’s estate to avenge them.

Chance had led him to the Grey Wardens and now he was here, the defacto Warden-Commander, since no one of any rank had survived the first culling by Corypheus on the surface. Those who refused to join the Elder One were put to the sword by the Venatori. The elf had shaggy auburn hair and dark brown eyes. He leaned over a table covered with maps and candles and glanced up only when the door opened.

He lifted a hand to stay the other half-dozen Wardens around him. “Are you other Wardens?” he asked.

Alistair took the lead. “I am. Warden Alistair of Ferelden.”

Tabris blinked. “Warden- _King_ Alistair?”

“The very same, I’m afraid.”

Tabris gestured him forward. “Word is spreading of our coming down here, I take it, Warden Alistair.”

“Yes—have you heard what happened at Redcliffe?”

Tabris narrowed his eyes. “No. What happened?”

Alistair told him while Cullen, Sebastian and Minaeve sat down to rest their aching feet. 

“Amazing,” Tabris said, with a small smile. “Dagna will want to know when she wakes up.”

“Dagna?” Alistair asked.

“She’s an arcanist—she and a dwarven Shaper, Valta—have been our guides down here.”

“Dagna, the dwarf who really loved magic, Dagna?” Alistair asked.

“Yes,” Tabris chuckled. “Seems Cadash Thaig might be lucky after all. She and Valta went to bed—they’re exhausted. When they wake, you’ll have to talk to her. She might explode from happiness.”

Alistair grinned. “We’re hoping Sister Leliana will go into the Deep Roads. She’s been imprisoned a long time—but with any luck, she’ll know to head underground. The roadrunners are spreading the word that if anyone finds her, they’re to take her in and protect her.”

“Especially if she got the Inquisition’s people out of there,” Tabris said. “They might be the only ones left who can do something about the Elder One.” Tabris took a deep breath. “Right—Tully, go break open one of the houses for Alistair and his friends. If you plan to stay on, sir—we could use your help.”

“Of course. I assume you’re down here for a good reason?”

“Shaper Valta thinks she might be able to find the Titans—I guess they’re some kind of giant creatures who might be able to help against Corypheus.”

“Good enough for me,” Alistair said brightly.

Warden Tully led the four to an empty house and broke inside.

 

 

They still didn’t feel entirely safe there and so Sebastian stayed up while the other three slept. So he heard the raised voices first. It wasn’t quite a commotion—but it wasn’t quiet discussion either. Someone appeared to have arrived at the entrance to the Thaig. Sebastian grabbed his bow and stepped outside the door to look.

A small group was talking to the Wardens on guard. He saw a glint of weapons and….

And someone who looked familiar….

“Hawke!” Sebastian cried out and burst into a run.

The Wardens on guard turned around in time for Sebastian to fly passed them, smashing into the female human and grabbing her in his arms. 

“Hawke!” Sebastian said, pulling back and looking at her. “I can’t believe it! You’re alive!”

She stared at him. “S-Sebastian?!”

“Hawke—thank the Maker—you’re alive. I was sure you were dead! Hawke…” Sebastian ran his fingers through her matted hair. “Have you seen any of the others?”

“No—I haven’t heard—“

“Cullen is here! You have to—come on!”

“What! Cullen is here!? _Knight-Captain_ Cullen is here?”

The Templar himself was just opening the door. 

“Cullen!” Sebastian called to him. “It’s Hawke!”

Cullen started in surprise and hurried to him. “It’s—Maker’s breath, it _is_ you! We were sure you were dead!” 

“Cullen!” Hawke hugged him. “Did you come here with the Wardens?”

“No—we arrived about six hours ago. We heard they were here when we passed through the Dead Trenches.”

“Holy shit!” Hawke breathed. “I was sure you had to be dead. So many are dead—“

“Did you hear about Redcliffe?” Cullen asked.

“No—what happened at Redcliffe?”

“Varric could still be alive,” Sebastian told her, grabbing her shoulders. “They’re saying Sister Nightingale is still alive and she escaped with the Inquisition members still held there. That means Varric could be with her.”

“Oh my god,” Hawke felt her knees get weak and she grabbed into Sebastian’s shirt. “Varric could be alive….” She took some deep breathes to try to steady herself. “Fuck—you don’t know how good it is to see you two.” She hugged Sebastian again.

“We have Alistair with us,” Cullen told her.

Hawke pulled back from Sebastian. “Alistair as in….King of Ferelden Alistair?”

“Yes.”

“Holy. Shit.” 

Alistair himself came out of the house with Minaeve. He walked towards them. “Son of a bitch—Hawke. It _is_ you.”

“Alistair—er, King Alistair—“

“Just Alistair is fine. I’m hardly a king anymore.”

She shook his hand. 

“And this is Minaeve, she’s an alchemist and a mage who was a member of the Inquisition.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Hawke said, shaking her hand as well. She turned to her group. “I—wow—I’m sorry to leave you guys out. I never expected to run into these clowns. Wow. I—okay. Sebastian, Cullen, Alistair and Minaeve. These are some friends of mine—Nasha, Rick, Radast, Max and his wolf, Toth. We came from Deeptown—which is east of the Frostbacks—one of the Ferelden thaigs. Where did you come in at?”

“Near the Anvil. West of the Dead Trenches,” Alistair told her. “We were in Val Royeaux—it was a disaster zone. We had to get out as soon as we could—we heard the Deep Roads were safer than the surface.”

“How do you always manage to collect weird groups of misfits no matter where you go?” Cullen asked her.

“How are _you_ always involved in everyone’s shit, Cullen!” She laughed. 

“Come on then,” Sebastian said, putting a hand on Hawke’s shoulderblades. “We’re going to be speaking with Warden Tabris later—come with us, for now. We’ve got a place to sleep in. You all must be exhausted.”


	3. The Antivan Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were sick things, overseen by the local Magister Lord. Captured peasants or former nobles were favorites to watch—because they often had no experience fighting to the death. And the crowd loved to see someone rise to the occasion and become a killer almost as much as they enjoyed watching someone helpless get ripped apart.

Vengeance stared at the boy. “Come here.”

The boy shook his head. “You are too angry. You will hurt too much.”

“Then why are you here?”

“You need help. You will die if you continue like this. You have to let him go.”

Vengeace’s glowing silver eyes narrowed at the boy in front of him. “And you haven’t possessed anyone?”

“No. I am myself. I am. Me. Stronger now.”

“I have been denied for too long, Compassion. I will use this body to wreak havoc on the Elder One.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

Vengeance scowled, flaring with anger, with power, raw and hungry. 

“You cannot do it alone. You are too narrow, too focused, too linear for the Real. You need a balance or you will die. You will kill your human.”

“I no longer need him. I no longer need his weak sentiment or his mercy.”

The boy touched one of his daggers. “You _must_ let him go.”

“And who will stop me, boy. You?”

“With the strength, you can leave his body and take your own form, like me. But you must _want_ to let him go. You were Justice, now you are all dark inside. And behind your eyes, he’s there, watching helplessly. He was supposed to guide your intent. You were supposed to let him.”

“He wanted the woman. He was obsessed with her. He wanted to possess her. She denied him. He no longer cared about Justice when—“

The other spirit darkened, shifting his stance. “I have the strength to match you, Vengeance. But I don’t want to kill you. You can take your own form now. The Veil is almost gone.”

“And were I to do this, what then?”

Compassion shook his head. “I only want to _help_. I will help your human find people who can care for him. You can come too.”

Compassion felt Vengeance consider, felt the spirit list away from rage for a moment. 

“How did you get your form?” Vengeance demanded.

“I took mine before the Breach, before the doors opened and let all the littles in. And let all the littles out. I met a human I couldn’t help. And he died. And I…became him.” Compassion shuddered. “I want to help. There is so much pain in this world. If we do not do something—everyone will die.”

“You think spirits ought to help the mortals?”

Compassion peered up at him with startling blue eyes. “We _must_. Please—you were Justice. You can be Justice again.”

Compassion felt a twinge inside of Vengeance, his human trying to come through.

The possessed human grabbed Compassion by his collar, pulling him closer. He studied the boy. “I…” He released Compassion just as abruptly. “I….”

“Please,” Compassion said, softly. “Word has spread through the Fade. There is a chance now. The Herald is alive.”

Vengeance startled and Compassion felt his rage suddenly go calm, like the ocean after a storm. “What?”

“She’s alive. And she’s _here_. If we can find her and…and help—we could stop the Elder One.”

Vengeance looked down at the hands of his human. “How do I take my own form?”

Compassion reached out a hand. Vengeance hesitated…and then took it. The boy’s grip was tight, surprisingly strong, like a vice. And suddenly, Vengeance knew what to do. Before the Veil, he’d been locked inside—like a basement cellar—but now with the _will_ to—

He stepped forward. Compassion still held him, anchoring him to the Real, helping him step out of the human.

The mage collapsed. Vengeance held onto Compassion’s hand, disoriented as he staggered.

_Make yourself real, Vengeance._

The spirit clenched around Compassion’s grip, feeling it give and then become more solid. Red light sparked over Vengeance, running down the length of his body.

_Imagine yourself a form._

The spirit closed his ghostly eyes, shifting from a reflection of his human to something else, dark hair and black eyes. 

Compassion released his hand and turned to kneel by his human. The man was a powerful mage in his own right but he was haggard and weak. Vengeance had taken so much from him. The human’s eyes opened slowly. He looked dazedly at Compassion. “Where…”

“There is much to tell you. But we must get out of the open, first. Your name is Anders?”

The human stared up at him. “I…I…my head is….where is Justice?”

Compassion looked up, where Vengeance was still staring down at his own hands now. His eyes turned golden-brown. His hair was black and his skin was the color of whiskey. The demon looked down at Anders uncertainly and then at Compassion. 

Anders stared. “You…you’re….”

“We have to get out of the open,” Compassion said. He wrapped an arm around the mage and helped him to his feet. They were by the ocean, its waves reaching up the sand to touch their feet. “There is a cave near here.”

“Who are you?” Anders managed weakly.

Compassion looked at him as he helped him walk down the coast. “My name is Cole. I am a spirit of Compassion. I want to help.”

Vengeance walked behind them, still seeming amazed at having his own body. He resembled Anders in the structure of his face and build of his body but was dark in skintone. His hands even had little scars on them that Anders had from magical mishaps. Small burns and the like. “I’m a mage,” Vengeance said softly.

Cole nodded. “Yes—because you reflected Anders.” He helped the human into the cave. Anders was too weak to stand on his own and he sunk to the cave floor when Cole released him. The young man drew stones together. “Can you light Veil Fire?”

Vengeance started a little. “Me? I…” He walked up to the stones. “I….yes.” He stretched out his hand and the blue fire sparked into existence above the stones. “How am I….”

“You should pick a name,” Cole told him. “Mortals like names. And you can’t be Vengeance anymore.”

“A name? But I—I _want_ to be Justice.” 

“You can’t yet. You haven’t made the change yet. You’re not strong enough.”

“Then….what should I pick?”

Cole glanced up at him, then at Anders, then back at Vengeance. “Jacken.”

“Jacken….” Vengeance repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth. “Jacken….”

Cole sat down next to Anders, feeding the human some water and then pressing little bits of seared fish to his mouth. He forced the human to eat it, even when he turned away. “You have to eat. You have only subsisted because of Jacken. He doesn’t have to eat. You do.”

“Can’t you just kill me…”

“No. Your part in this isn’t over yet. We have to enter the Deep Roads.”

Anders swallowed with some difficulty. “I…I hate the Deep Roads…”

“I know. But it’s not safe for you on the surface. It’s not safe for anyone.”

“Did you find him?” A voice carried over the three men as a shadow appeared in the cave mouth. 

“Yes,” Cole said, standing up. “He became himself. His name is Jacken.”

It was a woman that inclined her head to Jacken. “I am Morrigan.”

“You were Flemeth’s girl-child,” Jacken said, eyes narrowing at her.

“I’m somehow unsurprised that you know that,” Morrigan told him. She turned her attention to the human. “And you, Anders—are you planning to lay here and die or would you like to help stop this mess?”

Anders shook his head. “We’re all going to die.”

“Of course we are. But I’m not going to let this Corypheus decide when. Not when the Herald is alive. We must find her. She can stop this with her Mark. You can either lay here and die like a dog or you can try to make up for the chaos you’ve had a part in causing.” She glared at Jacken. “You as well, Vengeance. We’ll have no more talk of you inhabiting anyone or I will bind you to me and be done with it.”

Jacken bristled. “You are a human witch—“

“I know how to deal with spirits. My mother made a pact with one long ago.”

Jacken’s hands curled into fists. “You do not—“

Cole stepped in front of him. “She can _help_. She’s hard on the outside but she wants to do what is right.”

The two spirits stared at each other. Jacken fought back the rage that had become so instinctive. 

“Kieran!” Morrigan called into the cave.

A dark-haired, bright-eyed boy raced out of the darkness. “I found the entrance, Mother. Just as you said.”

Morrigan nodded. She combed her fingers through the boy’s hair when he went to her side. “Then we’re ready. The spirits who found the Herald are hiding her from demons in the Fade that serve Corypheus but that also hides her from us as well. But there is nowhere else for them to head but underground. We will enter the Thaigs at Orzammar.”

“Orzammar is overrun,” Jacken said.

“Not for long.”

 

 

 

 

The Hero of Ferelden followed the Herald back into the cave. He fretted, trying to figure out how to interact. How he could—

Leliana paused by the fire, looking at Tam.

“What?” the elf asked her.

“I…I…felt something strange. Maybe it was all the red lyrium but…”

“Leliana!” the spirit cried out but no one could hear him. He closed his eyes, focusing all his will.

The others jumped, Tam backing away as the air beside her suddenly shimmered silver. A spirit stepped out of the Fade, struggling and fighting to solidify a form. He groaned, trying to keep his feet but collapsing to his knees. He grabbed into the stone floor and his body flashed.

Leliana stood up. “….Victor?”

The Hero of Ferelden stared up at her. “Leliana…you…you’re alive…you—“

The bard dashed over, grabbing him up in her arms and embracing him. “Victor—we—you’re dead…we…”

“His spirit stayed in the Fade,” Solas said quietly. “He must have seen the Herald’s Anchor from there.”

“What? Wait—if the spirits in the Fade can see—“

“Spirits cluster here,” Victor managed, leaning into Leliana. “They hide you from the demons who serve the Elder One.”

“Why?”

“Because this world is a nightmare. Pray you never see the slave pits in Tantervale, Herald. Or the blood sacrifices that have forced the magister lords to breed mortals like dogs.”

Leliana helped the spirit over to their fire and knelt down with him. “Do you know if Morrigan is still alive?”

“I don’t know,” Victor said softly. “It was…difficult to…focus on such things in the Fade. It was…I couldn’t grasp anything. It was…what I imagine being made Tranquil is like. But when I saw the Herald…I remembered you, Leliana……”

“I tried to find you after the Herald was killed. Where did you die?”

Victor looked into the fire. It cast gaunt shadows over his hollow face. “Weisshaupt. With many other Wardens. I arrived too late to stop what was happening there. There’s too much blood there now. All the screaming into the dark….” Victor shuddered. “So much screaming. The Void has taken that place. It converges now into the Fade and tears open minds and eyes and skins—“ he choked on his words a little, eyes getting more hollow, “—and the blood. They took all of it. Everyone. The fucking fools. Blood magic and a Tevinter Magister, Erimond. We all could hear the Calling—but it couldn’t be real. We knew that. It—couldn’t. We. We….”

“Victor…”

“We couldn’t,” Victor said, shaking. “I tried to stop them. And…and they tore my body apart piece by piece. One limb at a time, peeling away the skin and the demons they summoned, terror and fear, to feast. To _eat_ us inside, to make them _stronger_.”

“Victor!” 

“They kept us alive as long as they could. To whisper inside of us that we would make their Elder One that much stronger. That we would…” Victor bowed his head. 

“You know, the more I hear about this Elder One, the more I want to take his head off,” Tam said. “I will fix this. I swear it, I will.”

“You can’t,” said Victor. “Not alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

“No—you don’t understand. You came from the Other place. You don’t know. You missed it all. You can’t face the Elder One now or you _will_ die. You have to go underground, into the Deep Roads.”

“We’re not even sure where _we_ are,” Varric said to the spirit.

“There is someone who does.” Victor shuddered, half-fading from sight and then bowing his head and seeming to gather his will around him, forcing himself to exist again. “The nearest entrance will take you to Carta dwarves. They can help you.”

“The Carta still exists?” Varric said softly. “Holy shit.”

“The Thaigs are being claimed by mortals hiding underground. Orzammar is lost, however. Do not go to Orzammar.”

“Where is Corypheus himself? Where is he?” Tam asked.

“The Black City,” Victor said faintly. “The Deep Fade is where he has made his seat in what once was Arlathan. City of the Spirits….”

Tam stared at him and looked at Solas, who nodded in affirmation. 

“Victor, you must rest.”

The spirit nodded and Leliana helped him sit against the wall. 

Tam sat down on her boulder. The pit in her stomach opened wide and dark. 

“It isn’t your fault, dear,” Vivienne said quietly. “You couldn’t have known.”

“If I had…just _listened_ ,” Tam said, pushing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “If I had listened…”

“Then we make them _hurt_ ,” Sera said fiercely. “We rest—get our strength back and then go underground. And we find a way to make this fucking bastard _pay_.”

Iron Bull nodded. “We’re going to rip off limbs. And break necks. It’s gonna be legend.”

“We’re gonna be legend,” Varric agreed.

Dorian run his fingers through his hair. “Are there any other revelations that we all should know before we go be legend?”

“Blackwall isn’t a Warden,” Cassandra said quietly. “Not that it much matters now. But he lied to us all about that. But given everything else that’s happened—I can’t much care. Andraste preserve me but if we can beat the Elder One, I’ll go to my place at the Maker’s side blessing the name Thom Rainier.”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Tam said quietly. 

“Lean over,” Dorian said, getting up and going to the elf. “Put your head between your knees.” He rubbed her back gently while she rocked back and forth.

Blackwall said nothing. He looked at his knees silently. 

“If we somehow do get back—I’m going to have so many talks with so many of you,” Tam said quietly, taking a few deep breaths. 

 

 

The next morning, Tam got up by herself, carefully stepping over the others clustered around the fire. She went to the mouth of the cave again, staring up into the terrifying sky. This must be how dwarves felt when they first came to the surface. 

“Herald…”

She glanced over as Solas stopped next to her. “What is it now?”

“No—I….Herald…I never meant for anything like this to happen. I never…”

Tam took a deep breath. “All right….” She said softly. “I…I’m upset. And I’m angry and this is all my fault. And yelling at you likely didn’t help.”

“I deserved it and much worse. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought that if I could restore the world of spirits then we could…coexist after….”

“After all the death?”

Solas looked away. “…..yes.”

“Oh, Solas…dammit….” Tam stepped into him and embraced the other elf. “If you help us fix this then I’ll consider us even, I guess. But…”

“It will be difficult, I know. The others don’t trust me and I wouldn’t expect them to. Nor you.” He buried his nose in her hair. “But with your Mark, I know we can take this world back. And if you do go back—please stop me. No matter what. Stop me. Even if you have to kill me.”

Tam nodded against his shoulder and released him. “I will. I promise….”

 

 

The entrance to the Deep Roads that was nearby did, indeed, contain Carta dwarves. They were far to the south, near the Frostback Basin. It was almost five hundred miles north to Orzammar but they wouldn’t have to go that far if they could find the new route that some dwarves at Caridin’s Dust had constructed. Still, it was at least a month of travel. Tam asked if she might simply use the Mark but no one wanted to risk it—given that Corypheus was now hunting them. Additionally, Solas indicated that since she'd never been there before--opening up a rift and trying to imagine the place wouldn't be wise. It could send them anywhere if she tried to imagine a place she'd never actually been or seen. 

Tam and Dorian stayed ahead of the others—they were so tired, sickly and weak from the lyrium poisoning. So the two mages took point, scouting ahead and clearing out any oversized vermin or monsters. Iron Bull went as well, sometimes. Qunari were made of tough stuff. Varric frequently joined too. The lyrium poisoning seemed to effect the two of them differently from the others. 

Blackwall seemed to have gained some of his strength back after two weeks underground. Or perhaps it was sheer stubbornness that drove him to scout ahead with them sometimes. He threw himself into combat—maybe hoping to get himself killed. Regardless, it seemed to help him focus. He was a follower, by his own words. He did better when Tam gave him instructions. Watch Iron Bull’s flank. Carry Sera’s pack for a while. Carry Sera for a while—and ignore her if she objects. Chat with Victor about Warden stuff. Find Victor some daggers so the rogue could defend himself. 

Cassandra was like a machine, constantly murmuring the Chant to herself to keep herself going. Her humming was like a metronome. Leliana did not seem to have the lyrium poisoning that the others did. But she’d been brutalized and mutilated from Alexius’ experiments. They’d found her resistance to Blight to be curiously higher than most.

Tam felt helpless. This stupid Anchor and the only thing she could do was watch her only friends deteriorate….they were like walking corpses. She tried not to let them see her despair. Dorian stuck close to her, often reflecting the same feeling in his face. And guilt. Alexius had been his mentor, after all. The guilt was heavy.

It was another reason for the two of them to scout ahead and deal with any lingering monsters ahead. Tam could shudder and hold back tears and try to restrain herself—she didn’t want to think of them all dying. But they were, slowly. Wretchedly. They didn’t deserve this. Couldn’t there be… _something_ she could do? What good was this stupid Anchor if she couldn’t help her only friends?

She had to shake those thoughts away. Save it for Corypheus. This asshole was going to pay big time when she finally met him face to face. Whatever he was now, he was going to be red lyrium tomato paste when it was over. At least, he better be.

They saw no other souls in the Deep Roads that stretched up the length of the Frostbacks, save for the occasional insane lurker, driven mad by the darkness or lyrium or the Breach or demons or maybe all of those things. They came across a wooden footbridge south of Orzammar. 

“This must be the new bridge to Caridin’s Thaig?” Tam said quietly. 

“Let’s hope so,” Dorian murmured. He turned around, gesturing to Vivienne and taking her pack for her. 

So they turned west. The footbridge was narrow but solidly constructed. Still, Tam didn’t like lingering over the fathoms of the Deep Roads. 

Caridin’s Dust was lit up with Veil Fire. Tam raised a hand, gesturing for the others to stay back. She and Dorian crept forward.

“A settlement?” Tam whispered.

“Who’s there!” Someone cried out, hefting a simple crossbow.

“Wait!” Dorian sang out. “We’re travelers!”

“Identify yourselves!”

Tam and Dorian exchanged a look. Tam stepped ahead of him and pulled off her glove. She displayed her palm. “I am Tam Lavellan of the Inquisition.”

The guard started. “Holy shit!” He whirled around and called to another. “Oi! Go get the Captain! It’s the Herald!”

“Go back with the others,” Tam ordered Dorian. “If they attack, I’ll rift them all the way to Rivain.”

The elf stalked forward to solid stone. The guard was lighting more torches. “By the Stone—it’s the Anchor. You really are her. Son of a bitch, Herald. We—we had no idea you were still alive. We heard the Nightingale had escaped but….but not that she’d found the Herald herself!” 

Leliana waved passed Dorian to make herself seen as the Captain raced up to them. It was another dwarf. She examined the two of them. 

“Lady Nightingale,” said the Captain, “we had word of your escape a week or so back. We hoped you’d come to the Deep Roads. We had no idea you’d found the Inquisitor. Come—roadrunners spread out when they heard about the attack on Redcliffe. We’re to take you in without question.”

Leliana nodded and stepped ahead of the others to follow the Captain.

“Are you heading for Cadash Thaig, Lady Nightingale?”

Leliana frowned. “Cadash Thaig? Why? What’s in Cadash Thaig?”

“Grey Wardens,” said the Captain.

“Grey Wardens? Why are they in Cadash Thaig?”

“One of the Shapers from Orzammar is with them. She thinks she might know a way to find Titans that could help against Corypheus.”

Leliana looked at Tam. “Sounds promising, yes?”

Tam nodded. “But—it’d be better if word didn’t spread that I was here.”

“Do you have scouts here?” Leliana asked the Captain. “I will give them instructions on what information to spread on the surface, should Corypheus’ followers come snooping.”

“We do, Sister. I’ll arrange a meeting immediately. Food, rest and rooms at the tavern.” The Captain glanced back at the rest of the group. “…..most of them have lyrium sickness?”

“Yes,” Leliana said quietly.

The Captain looked down. “I’m sorry.”

“I am too.”

“Leliana,” Victor said quietly, walking next to the bard. “What about Andraste’s Ashes?”

Leliana shook her head. “They were removed from the Temple before the Conclave to ensure neither side got any ideas about making a statement by destroying it or something. Josephine oversaw their transport to a secure location. She knew where—but I was focused on other things. I don’t know that the Ashes would even do anything.”

“They healed the Arl of Redcliffe.”

“But we don’t know how or why they worked. If by some chance Josephine is still alive—she may be the only one who knows where the Ashes were taken.”

“Josephine wasn’t at the battle, right?” Tam asked.

“No—Cullen sent her away with the remaining Chargers. They were to go to the Waking Sea. But I was captured and Cullen disappeared. He’s probably dead.” Leliana shook her head. “There is no hope for us. We can only try to save what’s left.”

 

 

 

Amaranthine seaports were busy—but only at night. During the day, mortals hid among the mountains, the cliffs or stayed on their ships in the bay. The new magister overlords didn’t seem to mind pirates. In fact, they encouraged it, so long as they were given a cut.

Isabela, former pirate Queen of the Eastern Sea, hated to give them cuts of anything—except across their bowels—but she liked living too. She and Zevran, the former Antivan Crow, kept their ship through brute strength and cunning. Having Fenris around certainly helped, though his lyrium-tattoos, courtesy of a slaver in Tevinter, caused him more pain than usual with the sky torn open like a fucking virgin Antivan whore. 

The three of them left the dwarven warrior, Oghren on the ship to get drunk and hopefully guard it while they went into the port at Nessland. A new shipment of black market Rivaini rum was making the rounds by the docks, as well as the Fights.

They were sick things, overseen by the local Magister Lord. Captured peasants or former nobles were favorites to watch—because they often had no experience fighting to the death. And the crowd loved to see someone rise to the occasion and become a killer almost as much as they enjoyed watching someone helpless get ripped apart. 

Sometimes they fought each other, armed with rudimentary weapons. Sometimes they’d fight animals—bears were a favorite. Or giant spiders. The arena was housed in an old assembly building. It was easy for Isabela to see why they did this—if the untamable pirates could be distracted by watching bloodshed, maybe they wouldn’t start any shit of their own. That was why the alcohol was free here. It flowed heavy to get the blood up. 

“Anyone new?” Isabela asked, slugging back whiskey. 

“Slaves—some fighters, some who were too sickly for the Pits in Tantervale,” Zevran said quietly as he read the night's leaflet, shaking his head. “Poor bastards.”

Fenris sat at their table, scowling. “Do you need me here for this?”

“Yes—in case shit goes south. And you scare people.”

“Great. Thanks,” Fenris grumbled.

“Not our fault, hot stuff,” Isabela smirked. “But if we’re not here, the other pirates talk. So we come and we drink. We’re seen and then we get the hell out. Tomorrow we’ll go out to sea as far as is safe so at least we can smell some air that doesn’t smell like blood and shit.”

“Just sulfur and magic,” Fenris scowled.

“I’ll take it.”

Two bloody bouts in, a new fighter was presented as the Antivan Bird. This woman was a jewel—or had been, perhaps, a year ago. She had Antivan features, dusky skin and luminous black hair. It hung around her shoulders in a thick curtain—though its edges were ragged. A slaver had probably chopped it off with a dagger. Her eyes were sparkling and dark but there was a certain intensity to them and a fierce intelligence. There were some mocking jibes about her being a former noble.

If she had, whatever had happened to her seemed to have changed her. 

Zevran studied her with a critical eye. “She learned to fight in the ring,” he said, watching the lithe woman shift on her bare feet in the sandy fighting circle in the middle of the council building. “She moves like an animal—for survival, not precision or grace.”

“So not a former Crow?” Isabela said.

“Definitely not. I would have remembered one who looked like that.”

Fenris frowned deeper. “Do we really have to watch this? I’ve been in these arenas. There's nothing glorious or entertaining about this.”

“You want our ship in the hands of some Magister?” Isabela asked him.

“We could always _kill_ the magisters,” Fenris replied.

Isabela looked thoughtful at that as her eyes turned back to the Antivan woman. She was approached by a slender, pale Dalish elf, who was shoved into the ring by one of the guards. The elf looked terrified, staring around the fighting ring as the crowd roared in the stands. 

The Magister Lord came forward. “May your blood be used for better things,” he said and tossed them each a plain dagger at their feet.

The Antivan woman dove for hers. She leapt at the elf, slashing. The elf jumped back, trying to dodge around her, shouting for mercy, crying. 

Fenris looked down at the table.

He heard the gurgle of blood as a blade found a throat. It sprayed into the sand as the elf collapsed. The Antivan Bird growled at the stands, scowling and covered in blood. The Lord Magister reentered the ring and took her empty hand. “And once again, the Antivan Bird prevail—“

She turned on her toes, graceful as a dancer and slashed the Magister’s throat.

The stands went silent. Guards began to shout, someone screamed. The Antivan held her ground, as the guards rushed her.

Suddenly, the elf was jumping up, gutting the first guard who came too close.

“What the fuck?” Isabela said.

“Oh, very nice. It was a glamour. She was not dead.” Zevran smiled. 

Fenris was up on his feet, drawing his sword.

“Fenris!” Isabela jumped up.

But the elf was already jumping into the ring to stand next to the Dalish woman and the Antivan. The stands erupted as people fled.

“Oh, fucking piss,” Isabela huffed and drew her daggers to go join Fenris. 

Zevran just laughed, jumping up on their table and picking up a bow. It was easy to snipe guards from this height while Fenris viciously backhanded a woman in Tevinter armor, shoving his longsword into her belly. A mage grabbed for the elf but his tattoos flared and he tore the man apart, hand bursting through the mage’s chest.

Soon, all that was left was silence and blood.

Fenris sheathed his blade.

“Your assistance is appreciated,” the Antivan Bird said, nodding stiffly, but politely. “Are you all right, Dalish?”

The elf she’d fought smiled and nodded as she knelt down to empty the magister's pockets. “You’re really good at this. You should have been an assassin from the beginning.”

“You are not a Crow,” Zevran said from his spot on the table. “You learned to fight in the ring?”

“Yes,” said the woman. “Believe it or not, I was a noble before this.”

“Was this part of a plan?” Fenris asked her. “You two clearly know each other.”

“Yes. My contacts are currently taking care of the Magister’s household. Because we knew he would be here tonight. If it please you, you are welcome to come along and scrape the barrel for more. There are three other Magisters who will be meeting their Makers tonight.”

Dalish pulled out a small pocket watch. “Should be any moment, milady.”

“This was _planned?"_ Isabela asked, exchanging a look with Zevran. "Damn."

“Indeed,” the woman said, expression stony. She took one of the torches from a sconce on the wall and tossed it onto a nearby table. The whiskey-soaked wood caught fire quickly. 

“I like killing Magisters,” Fenris told her.

Outside, explosions rocked the uptown district to its foundations.

“That’ll be Rocky getting Magister number two, Grim and Skinner should be taking care of three and four right about now,” Dalish said, taking another torch down and beginning to light all the banners in the building on fire before throwing the torch behind the bar, where it gorged itself on alcohol, setting the entire wall aflame.

“Wait, before we run off to get killed and probably get my ship burned down,” Isabela said, “who are you?”

“Josephine Montilyet of Antiva.”


	4. The Madrigal's Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke/Sebastian  
> \----
> 
> Alistair grinned, lighting up his whole face. He turned to one of the guards. “Go find Sebastian. She’s probably with him. But shhh. Don’t tell.”
> 
> The guard bowed and sprinted off.
> 
> Varric’s eyes went wider. “She? Who? Who! Wait—who is it?”
> 
> \--------

Grim was there to meet Josephine when she entered the house of the second Magister to die. He was soaked in blood—having just finished the throatcutting. He waited in ominous silence until Josephine nodded to him. He eyed the three with her, lingering on Fenris, before following the Antivan. 

It was a little bit eerie, how these people were treating this Antivan woman. She was not one of them, clearly—and yet…she commanded them.

Zevran watched them come out of the woodwork. The blond human, Grim; the elf, Dalish; another elf called Skinner, a dwarf called Rocky and another human who went by Krem. Krem actually bowed over his arm to the woman. 

She nodded, regal as a queen. Zevran, Isabela and Fenris watched her approach the dead magister. “This is the one,” she said quietly. “The one who bought me when we crossed the border.”

The five stayed silent.

Josephine reached down, plunging her fingers into the mutilated throat of the magister. She smeared two words on the wall in his blood. 

_The Madrigal_

Zevran started in recognition. 

Josephine flicked pulped tissue off her fingers, meticulously clearing her fingernails with a handkerchief that she then dropped on the man’s face. "Did you find any correspondence?” 

Skinner nodded, smirking. “We have whole case. They receive word here from all over because of the ports. The shems weren’t very careful. They become arrogant. Leave things out.”

“The servants?”

“Released. Some want to join us.”

“Where are they?”

“We send them to the Magister Dahlee, the fourth on list. To search the house for anything valuable.”

“Let’s go. The Nessland guard is busy at the docks but we shouldn’t linger.” The woman looked Zevran, Isabela and Fenris. “You are free to come with us or leave. It will be dangerous.”

They looked at each other. 

“I’m going with the Lady Madrigal,” said Fenris. “I’m tired of doing nothing.”

Zevran smiled. “I admit, I am intrigued with your choice of signature.”

“You’re an Antivan Crow, I take it?” Josephine said, starting to walk down the hallway.

“I was, at a time.”

“What are you names?” Josephine asked, striding through the house and going out the back door. They melted into the shadows, going up the side streets to the third Magister’s house. 

“Zevran. The other elf is Fenris, the woman is Isabela.”

The woman turned around, looking over them carefully. “Isabela and Fenris—did you ever spend time in Kirkwall?”

The woman and the dark elf exchanged glances. 

“We did,” Fenris said, flatly.

“Then you know Varric Tethras?”

Isabela started. “Yes—we knew Varric.”

“Then we have more to discuss than you realize. Do you have a safe place?”

“I have my ship—Oghren is still on it—hopefully,” Isabela said.

"If he did not get drunk and fall off the bow, you mean," Zevran said.

Josephine entered the house through the cellar. It had not been bombed like the second Magister’s house. It was apparent that a silent bloodbath had occurred here. The Magister had been pinned to her chair in her study, courtesy of Skinner. 

“Grim, can you get me one of her arms?”

The human stepped forward silently, unsheathing his sword and chopping off the limb. He handed it to Josephine by the wrist. She took it and used the stump to write the same two words on the wall.

_The Madrigal_

Then she dropped the limb on the ground. She looked at Skinner. “Did you already search this one?”

“Yes. We find many things of interest.”

Josephine nodded, heading out of the house like she was on a social visit. “Zevran,” she mused quietly as they slipped into the dark for the fourth Magister’s house. “You knew the Hero of Ferelden?”

“I did. As did Oghren, my Lady Madrigal.”

Josephine entered the fourth Magister’s house. A small band of slaves and servants met her in the great hall. She looked over them. “If you wish to join me, you will go to the slums on darkside and enter the warehouse. The password is _Three Antivan Crows Dead; Two Released_. If you do not wish to—then I don’t care what you do or where you go. But anyone who betrays a fellow slave here, will be found and gutted later. The choice is yours. Go.”

The slaves looked at each other and they scattered to get out of the house, leaving everything they’d found behind for Skinner to pack up. Grim didn’t wait for Josephine to ask—he went to Magister Dahlee’s body and chopped off her left arm. Josephine wrote her bloody signature on the wall. 

“What’s the deal with The Madrigal?” Isabela murmured to Zevran.

“She was Queen of Antiva, famously murdered by the Crows. After her death, it’s said she haunted the Divine Theodosia the First, causing her to give the Steel Age its name the next day. No one found out who ordered the kill because the Crows would not break under torture—it’s a favorite story for young Crows. But she was found with four swords in her, one of them being a replica of Archon Hessarian’s Sword of Mercy—which supposedly was used to give Andraste a merciful death as she burned on her pyre.”

“Oh, creepy,” Isabela nodded approvingly. “That’s a pretty good story.”

Skinner picked up the last and largest bundle of correspondence. “Ready, Madrigal?”

Josephine nodded and they headed out. “Skinner—go to the warehouse. You know what to look for. Take them to our ship. Rocky?”

“The charges have been set at Magister Rulian’s residence since he left for the Fights.”

“Good. Go light them. Go to the ship afterwards. Grim, Krem, Dalish—you’re with me.”

Dalish took the bundle of papers from Skinner and Isabela led the Madrigal through the streets. City Watch were swarming at the residences of the Magisters—they had reached the docks by the time the last explosion rocked the uptown district. The confusion let them pass unnoticed to Isabela’s ship. 

Oghren was sitting on deck, he jumped up when he saw Isabela. “See—I’m up here keeping watch like a good dwarf. Ugh. How were the fights?”

“Unexpectedly interesting. C’mon, belowdecks. Light the lanterns and break out some of the wine,” Isabela told him. 

Belowdecks, Josephine sat primly in a wooden chair. Her three companions stood behind her against the wall, watching Isabela closely. 

“So,” Isabela said, pushing over a pitcher of wine. “How do you know Varric?”

“A year ago, I was Josephine Montilyet—Ambassador to the Inquisition. Of which Varric was a member.”

“Oh, shit,” Isabela said, softly. She exchanged looks with Fenris.

“Perhaps it is providence that we meet now of all times. I was sent to the Waking Sea with a mercenary group called the Chargers, hoping to make it into Antiva. We did not. We were ambushed by Tevinter slavers in the Free Marches and taken to Minrathous.”

Fenris scowled. 

“I imagine they did not know who I was—or we all would have been killed immediately. But they did not. I was sold to the Magister you saw not long ago. A lot of bad things happened while I was with him. After I attempted to escape, he forced me into the fighting pits, expecting I would either die or learn my lesson.”

“Looks like neither happened,” Fenris said, a slight edge of approval in his tone.

“Correct,” Josephine said flatly. “Luckily, Krem is from Tevinter. He managed to get himself released and saved the few you saw tonight. He showed exemplary courage and loyalty when he helped me escape from the Pit kennels. By then, I had been in the fighting pits for eight months.”

“God _damn_ ,” Oghren muttered.

“The Pits in Minrathous are the worst in the whole Imperium,” Fenris said quietly. “That you made it out is a testament to your will to survive.”

“I was a very different person after that,” Josephine said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “That was two months ago. We stole a small ship and came south when I heard my old master had come to Nessland. When I got here, I decided we should exterminate all the rats. Not just one.”

“So now that your rat is dead—what are you going to do?” Zevran asked her.

Josephine held out her hand and Dalish handed her a neatly folded letter. “We found this four days ago on a messenger from Redcliffe outside Nessland. It is dated almost three weeks back. It says that Varric and the other members of the Inquisition held there, may have escaped. No one is certain how but it is clear that they were alive when this letter was written. There were three copies—one for each magister.”

“So you want to go find them?” Isabela asked.

“We don’t have the time or resources,” Josephine said. “And if this is true—then the Elder One will be searching for them. I’d rather him not find us instead. I have a ship—I would like two ships. Because before the Conclave, Andraste’s Ashes were moved from the Temple near Haven. I would like to go retrieve them.”

“What? For—you’re going to risk everything for some fucking pot of ashes?” Isabela said, flabbergasted.

Josephine’s hard look didn’t flinch. “Zevran—were you at Redcliffe when the Arl was healed?"

The Crow had to nod. “I was, Lady Madrigal. Victor found the Ashes in the Temple and the arl was healed. That is true. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“However the Ashes worked—I don’t care. The point is that they do. And those captured by Corypheus—well, they are often forced to take the blood lyrium. It might be the only thing that can help them if they’ve been infected. I’m asking you now because you were friends with Varric and he may still be alive.”

Isabela looked at the other three. “….ugh, fuck—my stupid conscience. This is a terrible idea. But yes—I can’t just not. My ship is yours. Where are the Ashes?”

“Val Royeaux,” Josephine said. “Sealed under the Grand Cathedral.”

“Val Royeaux was destroyed—it’s likely either a warzone or its been taken over by Magisters or Corypheus,” Zevran said.

“Nothing worth having is easily had. I have no way of knowing where the Inquisition members are or where they could be going. If this letter is even true. But if it is—and there’s a chance that I could help—this is how I can. Do you still want to come with me?”

Isabela sighed. “I’m going to regret this. Yes. There better be things there for me to steal.”

Fenris just nodded. “I’ve been bored, sitting in a harbor.”

“As a fellow Antivan, I am obligated to assist you,” Zevran said.

“Hell yeah, let’s kill some fucking magisters,” Oghren said, slurping down more wine.

“Then we should set sail as soon as possible,” Josephine said, standing up. “I will go to our ship and make ready to cast off. If you do not have a crew, I can send some of the people we’ve rescued to you.”

“Yeah, that’d be…all right. Yeah, great,” Isabela said, standing as well. 

“I’ll go with her to her ship,” Fenris said, “to bring the sailors back.”

Josephine nodded. “Then let us begin.”

 

 

 

Hawke sat at a small table with Sebastian. They’d been exploring a few of the old buildings while the Grey Wardens talked in the Council hall.

“You know, Hawke, I….I never apologized,” Sebastian said softly, “for how angry I was when you let Anders run.”

Hawke fiddled with her pipe. “I probably shouldn’t have.”

“But asking you to kill one of our friends…even after he’d done something so awful….it wasn’t fair. Threatening to declare war on Kirkwall wasn’t fair. You’d think I’d have learned after what happened to my family—that vengeance should be the last course of action, if at all. Not the first.”

Hawke emptied her pipe into her palm silently and brushed the ash on her trousers. “We were all…in a bad place. Fenris was going to turn against me when I defended the mages—I thought we’d have to kill him—and then he changed his mind. Anders blew up a Chantry because I couldn’t see that Vengeance was driving him crazy. All I saw was…him getting obsessed. It scared me then. After losing…well….Beth, Carver, my mother…I just…”

“You lost a lot, Hawke. I should have understood. But I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

She glanced up at Sebastian. “I’m sorry too. Maybe if I’d…done better. Been less selfish. None of this would have happened.”

“You weren’t selfish by not being intimate with Anders. He was…unhealthy. Vengeance had warped him. He was probably a good man before Justice possessed him. He was lost after that. Maker have mercy on him, wherever he is now.”

“Varric could see it. He was the one who warned me that Anders was getting kind of weird about me. I didn’t see it until he told me. We were both mages—maybe it would have helped Anders if I’d…tried. But I couldn’t. He was too…he went too far. The situation wasn’t black and white. It wasn’t all Templars being evil and mages being good. Cullen tried so hard to show mercy and to keep the city from just collapsing under Meredith. And some mages turned to blood magic, killing their fellows or other innocent people. There was good and bad on both sides. And everyone was demanding me…to pick. One or the other. But I was a mage. Bethany was a mage. My brother should have been a Templar.” The pipe shook in Hawke’s hand. “He should have….but instead I took him into the Deep Roads--thinking it might help us...I dunno, get along better. And he died in the dark.”

“Madelaine…” Sebastian scooted his chair to her side to touch her shoulder.

“Carver _hated_ me. He blamed me for Bethany’s death. Just like our mother did outside of Lothering—“

“She was in grief, Madelaine. She didn’t mean that.”

“Maybe. But I always wondered. Carver resented me so much. And I could never….quite figure out why. He was an ass sometimes but I loved him. He was my little brother. He wanted to do what was right. He was always looking to the future instead of the past. And I had to slit his throat in the Deep Roads. Underground in the dark with the monsters. Carver should have….should have at least seen daylight…” Hawke took a deep breath, trying to get herself under control. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I—haha--I'm sorry, sometimes I--“

“Madelaine…you’ve never talked about what happened to them. Maybe you should.”

She looked sidelong at Sebastian. “Ha…is this you doing the Chantry-Brother thing?”

Sebastian chuckled. “No. I’m not a Brother anymore. And after all this…I have a hard time believing in any Maker at all. This is me being your friend.”

She looked under her tangled hair at him. “I…thank you.” She sighed heavily. “I still….I still dream about my mother. The way she died.” She shook her head. “Knowing what she must have endured at the hands of that psychopath because I couldn’t reach her in time. He cut her into pieces. And the way he stitched her...to...I….I see it over and over again. If there are any gods and all they left me with was Uncle Gamlen, I have to wonder at their sense of humor. He hated me just as much as Carver did. And I went out of my way to have my cousin meet him. Like an idiot. Why did I even bother?”

“Because at your heart, you’re good. You’re a good woman who was forced into bad situations and had to make hard decisions.”

“I didn’t want to make them.”

Sebastian slid an arm around her. “No one does, Madelaine. But those who are strong make them anyway.”

Hawke finally relaxed a little, leaning against Sebastian’s shoulder. “You were always a good friend to me, Sebastian.” Her fingers curled into his shirt.

“At least until the end—I never—“

“Sebastian—no—you’d lost your family. You were angry. You lost the only person you had left. You had every right to be angry with me—“

“No. I should have been angry at Anders. I shouldn’t have seen all apostates as being him. I didn’t see you that way. But I wasn’t sure if I was a Chantry Brother or a Prince of Starkhaven. I wanted to do my duty—but I wasn’t sure which duty that was. And instead of admitting it, I let pride blame you. When you should have been the one that I supported. I could have killed Anders. But I didn’t. I called for his death but I didn’t want to be the one to carry it out. None of us did. So we left it to you and then blamed you when you didn’t do what we wanted. It wasn’t fair to you. It was our own weakness. All of us.”

Hawke blinked a little and looked up at him. “Seb, I don’t blame any of you.”

“You wouldn’t, would you?” He smiled at her. “You’re a good woman, as much as you pretend the opposite. You do it to protect yourself. I know that. And if I’d been smart, I’d have taken you with me to Starkhaven. If I’d done that—we might all still be together. Maybe Varric wouldn’t be in such danger now. But it was anger and foolish pride. And if we survive—I want to start new.”

“New?” She asked him quietly.

“New. Maybe even rebuild Starkhaven.” Sebastian combed his fingers into her hair, feeling her warmth pressed against his side. “You could come with me?”

Her fingers curled tighter into his shirt. “I….I would like that, Sebastian. I...“ She looked down for a moment and then back up at him. "I never told you, um...how I...."

"You didn't have to," he murmured.

"I wanted to--to respect your devotion to the Chantry and I knew I couldn't be in a chaste marriage. I didn't even really believe in the Maker by then. And I just--"

Sebastian cut her off with a kiss, pulling her close and wrapping an arm around her waist. Her hand flattened against his shirt, sliding up his chest to grab onto his shoulder. She kissed him back, pressing harder. Sebastian exhaled, shaky, and slid a hand under her thigh, pulling her right off her chair and into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him deeper, body pressed up against him in a line of heat.

His hands scrambled at her collar, unhooking her cloak and pushing it off her shoulders. Her spine arched with a soft sound as he drug his fingers down her shirt, sliding under it and pushing the linen up. She lifted her arms to help get it off and went for his armor, unhooking the catches at the shoulders and pushing it to the ground. His fingers, calloused and hot, slid over her breasts to the binding, pulling the laces loose and dragging it off of her. He stood up to sit her on the table. She unbuttoned his shirt, smoothing her palms over bare skin when she found it, pressing in close to kiss under his collarbones. 

Sebastian leaned over her, ducking in to kiss her throat. He heard her take a shaky breath as his hands slid down the hard muscle in her abdomen to the laces of her trousers. She arched into his touch, the soft sound of her voice made him feel hazy and thick. Sebastian cupped her thigh, shifting it up to his side and untying the laces of her boot, pulling it off and dropping it on the floor. 

Hawke braced her hands on the table to hold herself up as he unlaced her other boot. She lifted one hand to stroke over his nipple, sliding down to grab into the ties at his trousers and unlace them. She felt his fingers pause, heard him groan softly, when she reached inside the leather to touch him. He was hard and hot, like steel wrapped in velvet. He dropped her other boot and for a moment, braced his hands on the table, bowing his head as she stroked him. Her thumb caught a smear of slickness from the head, pulling it down the shaft.

“Lass—you…” He shuddered and swallowed hard. “If I were still a Brother, I’d say you were a wicked woman.” 

“You could say that anyway,” she told him, voice husky.

He looked at her, eyes dark and heated. “Just so.” He grabbed her trousers and pulled them down her thighs. His rough palms slid up her calves as he nudged between them. She arched her back, her knees gliding up to press against his hips. He could feel her heat rolling off of her, begging him to close the distance. “Madelaine….are you…?”

“Yes, Sebastian—yes….” She leaned back.

The hard length of him touched her folds, sliding against the slick heat he found there. He shifted himself over the pearl of nerves at her core, hearing the harsh breath she took when he slid against it. He braced one palm on the table, using the other to nestle between her thighs, finding that button and stroking over it, slow and deep. She swallowed hard. Sebastian could hear her struggling to bite back her breathing as it shortened, as a moan kept trying to escape her throat. 

“Now, love, that won’t do,” he said, brogue getting thick and husky as he leaned down to her ear. “How will I know what you like if I can’t hear you?”

He _felt_ her shudder all the way to her toes. 

“I…I imagine you know what you’re doing…” she breathed, managing a low chuckle.

“I do, I admit. Though, perhaps a bit rusty from my time in the Chantry?”

Her hands lifted, carding into his hair. “I’ve wanted you since I met you,” she said softly. “If you need a refresher I can help after you show me what you remember.”

“I’ve always admired that desire to help others in you,” he smirked. He pressed inside of her.

She chuckled breathlessly. "I see what you did there--ah--!" Her spine arched and she moaned, not trying to suppress it anymore. She let him hear her, her voice getting faint and high. Sebastian braced his elbows above her shoulders, bowing his head to give her a moment—to give them both a moment—to adjust to feeling of him inside of her. Parting her slickness and heat. It was so warm and soft inside of her, but tight. A firm but gentle hold as he sheathed himself fully within her. Her head tipped back against the table and the archer took the opportunity to kiss, nip, finding her pulse and sucking gently at it. He trembled just a little until he felt her fingers grab into his hair, curling into the strands.

He shifted inside of her, just a little and then pulled back—but the grip of her, drawing him back in, clenching around him to keep him inside of her. He groaned softly against her throat.

He shifted again, felt her hips rise to meet him and that was all the encouragement he needed. He grabbed one of her hands, curling their fingers together and pinning it to the table, using it as an anchor to thrust into her. Her breasts pressed hot against his chest, a sheen of sweat already beading between them. He bit into her shoulder, gently sucking there. She shifted, wrapping her legs around his waist, knees pressing in tight against his sides. Sebastian slid his free hand between them to stroke the pearl of pleasure among her folds, a slow and rhythmic counterpoint as his thrusts started to lose focus, increasing in urgency. Her spine arched, straining against the hand that pinned her own down. She thrashed, her whole body tightening up unbearably when she came, climax blooming over her. He lost his control, following her a few strokes later, rolling to her core and spilling deep into her heat.

Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him onto the table with her. “This better not be the part where you say we can only be friends,” she murmured to him.

“I wouldn’t dare.” He smiled gently at her. “A prince respects a hawk.”

She laughed softly. “That was so cheesy and yet, somehow romantic. Good work.”

His laugh was low and warm in her ear, brushing their noses together. 

A horn sounded outside.

“More arrivals?” Hawke said quietly, running her fingers through his auburn hair.

“Sounds like it. Let’s get you dressed.” He kissed her deeply one more time before easing out of her.

 

 

 

Leliana stood at the gate with Blackwall at her side. One of the Wardens had run off to go to the Council building to get their Warden-Commander, an elf called Izeka Tabris. He came out swiftly, walking towards them with—

“Alistair!” Victor said. “Leliana! Look! It’s Alistair—“

“ _Cullen!_ ” Tam flew by them, sprinting across the stone and plowing right into the Templar, nearly knocking him off his feet.

“How are you alive!” Cullen asked, pulling back to look at her. “I can’t believe it! How did you survive!”

“It’s a long story,” Tam said, wrapping her arms around him and burying her eyes in his chest. 

“Let them through!” Alistair commanded, grinning as he ran up to Victor and embraced him, pounding him on the back. “It’s so good to see you, Victor. And Leliana,” he turned to her and his expression fell, disquieted. “Oh, Leliana…”

“I know,” Leliana said softly, looking down.

Alistair tilted her chin up. “What did he do to you?” 

“Many things. Things you don’t want to hear.”

“I will hear them,” Alistair said, almost sternly, almost in his King-Voice. “So when we kill this Elder One, I will have some semblance of satisfaction. I’m so sorry I couldn’t get to you at Redcliffe.” Alistair embraced the bard tightly. “Your commander, Cullen—he saved me as well as Sebastian Vael, the Prince of Starkhaven.”

“Choir-boy is here!” Varric exclaimed. “No shit! Where is he! I owe him some friendly mocking!”

“You must be Varric Tethras?” Alistair asked, a smile creeping up his face.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Then you’re about to be much happier very soon.”

“Why do you say that?”

Alistair grinned, lighting up his whole face. He turned to one of the guards. “Go find Sebastian. She’s probably with him. But shhh. Don’t tell.”

The guard bowed and sprinted off.

Varric’s eyes went wider. “She? Who? Who! Wait—who is it?”

The group entered the gates as the guard came sprinting back. Sebastian was following at a brisk walk, so was—

“Hawke!” Varric cried out.

Her face transformed in a flash. “Varric!” She ran to him, sliding down on her knees and embracing the dwarf. “Oh my fucking shit, you’re alive!” She buried her eyes in his blond hair. “I swear, I’m going to start crying.”

“Aw, Hawke, your face gets all gross and puffy when you cry.” He grinned over Hawke’s shoulder as Sebastian approached, waving to the prince.

“It’s your fault, shortstack. You're gross and puffy all the time!” Hawke sniffed and leaned back. Her smile faded a little as she touched his temple. “…..you have lyrium sickness?”

“Yeah, Hawke. We all do.” He glanced back at the others.

Hawke stood. “Are you all Inquisition?” She asked, while Sebastian shook Varric’s hand and then embraced him.

“We were members of the Inquisition, yes,” said Cassandra. “The Elder One kept us all close to red lyrium. We’ve all been corrupted. We don’t have a lot of time left.”

Hawke looked down at Varric. 

“Don’t worry, Hawke. If we can beat the Elder One—I’ll die happy.”

“I won’t, you jerk-midget.” 

“Hey, we should have died in Kirkwall. We sacrificed enough goats to get us through that—we’ve all been on borrowed time.”

“I’m so sorry, Varric. I—“

“Don’t worry about it. The gang is all back together. What could go wrong, right? And we have the Inquisitor.”

“You have an Inquisitor now?”

“Well, the Herald—but she might as well be our Inquisitor. We’ve all just started calling her that. She’s the one clinging to Cullen like a leech. I think they were kind of crushing on each other in Haven.”

Hawke glanced over to where the elf was still standing with Cullen. “She was the one with the Anchor? We all heard she was killed at Redcliffe.”

“Yes—and that’s a story I’d like to have our friend Dorian here only tell once. So let’s go to this Council chamber and tell your Warden-Commander.” Varric pointed at Tabris. “That’s you, right?”

Tabris just grinned. “Why do I feel like I’m Warden-Commander but still the most insignificant person here?”

“Aw, don’t take it so hard. We’ll be your friends soon enough, Freckles.”

The elf laughed and waved them all forward, leading them to the council chambers.

There, Minaeve came to Solas, gently taking his hand, expressing how good it was to see him. She tried to ignore the red in his eyes when she embraced the other elf. Solas seemed uncertain of how to react to that. He gently hugged her back. “I’m glad you survived, Minaeve.”

“Right,” Dorian said, when everyone was gathered in one room and seating in a massive half-circle. “So, this is kind of….a long, difficult story.”

Tam stood up from where she’d been sitting by Cullen and came down to join Dorian. “Everybody have a glass of wine or mead? You better get some now, if you don’t.”


	5. Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor/Cullen  
> \-----
> 
> Tam’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you…threatening me?”
> 
> “Yes,” said Hawke flatly. “He’s been through a lot. And if anyone deserves some happiness, it’s that poor bastard. So if you’re just screwing him around, I would advise you to quit now.”  
> \----------------------

“What were you going to do if we’d refused to come?” Fenris asked, crossing his arms as he watched Josephine stride down to the lower deck of her ship. He followed from a careful distance. He could still feel Grim watching him.

The woman glanced back at him, eyes dark and hard as obsidian. “I would have had you all killed.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes, head tilting with interest. “Even as friends of Varric?”

“If you were friends of Varric who refused to help, then you were of no use to me,” Josephine said, opening up a large chest and taking out a sack, which she offered to Dalish. “And I could not have told you as much as I did and then simply leave you as loose ends to trip me later.”

Fenris had to nod a little. “A sound plan.”

She eyed him for half a second, analyzing that response. “Your tattoos. Can you explain them?”

“They are lyrium tattoos. With them, I can fade through solid objects.”

“Like bodies? I saw the mage you tore apart at the fighting hall.”

“Yes. One of the more useful abilities.”

“From what I recall of Varric’s book, they are quite painful.”

Fenris nodded stoically. “Yes. They are. I competed for them to free my mother and sister from slavery. Afterwards, I was kept as a prize by my former master.”

Josephine headed back above, to where Skinner was examining the slaves they had rescued from the magisters’ residences. “They must hurt more now with the Veil shredded as it is?”

“Yes.”

“I see. We lost our healer in Minrathous but perhaps if we find the Ashes, we can do something about that.”

“I never read Varric’s book,” Fenris said, eyes following the Antivan woman as she picked out the slaves who had sailed before and split them into two groups. “What did he write about me?”

Josephine stood before the slaves, wrapped in layers of black muslin like she were enthralled in smoke. “Krem, take this half to Isabela’s ship—stay with them. With you there and Fenris here, it will be good insurance for the pirate and myself.”

“On it, Madrigal,” Krem said and waved the slaves to him.

Josephine turned back around to look at Fenris. “He wrote that you were often angry, stubborn and quiet. That you were in pain much of the time and you had an incredibly rigid stance of hate towards mages of any variety. That you and Hawke often butted heads about this because she was a mage. You saw things in black and white. You were the foil to Anders, who was just like you but in the opposite direction. But he also wrote that you had a sly sense of humor that occasionally made itself known when you became more comfortable with him. He said that Isabela and the other ladies considered you very handsome, though difficult to approach.”

“Do you believe he was correct?”

Josephine had just turned away to adjust one of the rigging ropes. She glanced sidelong at him, appraising him in the torchlight. “On being handsome? Yes, you are. The rest, I don’t know yet.”

“Varric wrote all these things but you seem very confident that your people could kill me.”

Josephine let go of the rigging rope and put her hands on her hips. “I have absolute faith in the Chargers.”

“And what about yourself?” His eyes fixed on her, narrowing and intense.

“I did not survive eight months in the fighting pits in Minrathous on scented handkerchiefs and party favors. Before this, I could talk my way to the side of almost any noble. I had the ear of an Empress on my left hand and the ear of a King on my right. And I controlled the wealth and power that the Inquisition commanded. That was all useless after I was captured. Many of the Chargers died to protect me. And if you want bloodshed to prove that I won’t let you harm any of those who remain—then you’ll have it.”

Fenris noticed that she did not include any real desire to save herself. There was a certain level of kinship he could feel with that attitude. “I don’t want it. You simply reminded me a little of myself after I escaped my master.”

Josephine eyed him and then turned away. “Do you know anything about sailing?”

“Not much.”

“Then go belowdecks until we’re underway. The glowing of your skin is interesting—but distracting.”

Fenris gave her a silent nod. “Yes, Madrigal.” He watched her stride off down the deck, her black scarf dangling over her shoulder as the wind whipped it around.

The Madrigal’s ship was named the Painted Star. She stood at the bow like a general as Grim hoisted the anchor with one of the former-slaves and Dalish lit the Veil Fire torch at the Crow’s Nest. It cast an eerie blue glow over the whole ship. They headed north. With a full galley now, they could reach the Waking Sea in a few days. They would take in west, heading into the Sea until they reached the Three Sisters tributaries. Any of them would take them into Val Royeaux. 

 

 

 

Cole carried the Veil Fire torch down the passage. The entrance from the cave had been long. And damp. Kieran had walked with Cole the entire time, seeming very interested in him. The child taught Cole how to play the Word Association game. Though apparently his choices often confounded the child. 

“Steak,” Kieran said.

“….blue birds?”

“Um. Beaks.”

“Sulfur.”

“What’s sulfur?”

“It…is earth that’s been burned too much.”

“What’s that got to do with bird beaks?”

Cole looked thoughtful. “Beaks are glasses for birds, beakers are glasses for earth.”

Kieran thought long and hard about that one. “All right. Um. Hmmm. Lute.”

“Fingers, straying over the strings, calloused and worn like the words that she sings, soft and shallow and sad into the dark. It echoes in her head, reminding her of another day with a man who held her gently. No one had ever stroked her hair before. It was the most amazing feeling she’d ever had.”

“Cole,” Kieran said, huffing. “that's not a lute. That's the one she left”

Cole blinked and looked at the child. “Honey biscuits.”

“Tea.”

“Old books.”

“Scribes.”

“Denerim.”

The boy seemed to think about that one. “Denerim?”

“There’s a scribe there who loved the king. She knew he would never see her but she listened to his words and rolled them in her head. She loved his voice, his silly jokes, his smile, when she walked the streets of Denerim to buy parchment and new quills.”

“You see so much more than I do,” Kieran said quietly. "Is it because of the dreams?"

“Yes. You simply need think like a spirit,” Morrigan said.

“Oh,” Kieran replied. "I will."

“Isn’t dangerous to tell him that….?” Anders asked quietly.

“Only if one is weak,” Morrigan told him. “And my son is not weak.” She lifted a hand to walk ahead of Kieran and Cole. “Hold here a moment.” The witch touched the walls, skimming her fingers over a clump of dirt and then sweeping it off. “Here is the entrance.”

“I do not see the point of this,” Jacken said. “Orzammar is infested with dragons now. No one ventures here.”

Morrigan gave him a cool look. “I’m not a silly girl on a treasure hunt, spirit. Help your human, for once, if you can. He looks faint. And leave me to do what is necessary.”

Jacken bristled but he went to Anders' side and put an arm around him to help him walk. The human was too light, still weakened. But his magic was starting to rekindle in him. Jacken could feel Anders’ gaze on him, curious and piercing. He ignored it.

Cole came forward and helped Morrigan unearth the metal door. Kieran peeked through the crack in the metal until Morrigan gently urged him back. She placed her palm flat on the door and _pulsed_. It rocked on its hinges and shrieked with rust as it opened. 

“I can feel them, Mother.”

“Good. It will be just as we’ve practiced, Kieran. Are you ready?”

Kieran smiled gently and nodded. 

Anders looked at them. “Wh-what are you going to do…?”

“Control the dragons,” Morrigan said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Anders blinked, Jacken actually tripped when he stopped short. “What?” Anders asked.

But the witch strode through the doors. Kieran bounded along after her and then stood about ten feet from his mother. The boy looked up into the caverns. He whistled, high and piercing. It was a sharp sound, imbued with magic. 

Morrigan shapeshifted into a dragon.

“Maker have mercy,” Anders breathed, losing feeling in his legs and staggering against Jacken. 

Cole drew his daggers, standing in front of Kieran. Morrigan threw back her great head and roared. It shook the lava below the stone bridges. Bits of stone and dust came free of the supports above, raining down on them. Jacken pushed Anders under a ledge. The mage sagged, staring in stunned silence. 

The smaller drakes came first, thundering and spitting fire. They went for Morrigan. She bellowed fire at them, keeping them away from Kieran. Cole drove off a few that attempted to get closer to the human child. And then he turned to the boy, “She wants you to do it now, Kieran.”

The boy nodded, swallowing hard and, for the first time, seemed nervous. He wiped his hands on his ragged shirt and walked up to Cole. His mother stretched her great wings over his head. The boy took a deep breath and whistled.

It was different from before, echoing both in the Real and the Fade. All the drakes looked at the child, seeming to pause curiously. The magic imbued in the music slid over them like a wave. The boy raised a hand up, the drakes followed it, tilting their heads like curious dogs. Two of them approached cautiously. 

Kieran lowered his hand, changing the tone of the whistling to lower, to softer, to quiet. The drakes lowered their heads, padding to the child. One of them licked him.

Kieran smiled and pet it's head gently.

When the next wave came, the same thing happened. Kieran seemed to slip into their minds, to calm and sooth them, bringing them to him.

It wasn’t long before there was a thunderous roaring. The high dragon, the nest’s mother that now filled Orzammar—she slammed down before them. She was fiery orange, striped with blue and black. Her many children backed away, clustering around Kieran. Morrigan growled deep in her throat.

“She’s very big,” Cole said softly. He moved in front of Kieran again. 

The nest mother whirled, slamming her huge tail into Morrigan. The shapeshifter didn’t budge, taking the hit. It made the whole bridge shake. Cole whirled around and grabbed Kieran up, running behind Morrigan towards where they’d entered. 

“My--my mother!”

“She has to fight now!”

The high dragon bucked up into the air, shooting passed Morrigan but the witch was fast, slamming her tail into the dragon’s scaly back. The bridge groaned when she fell. 

Anders was still sitting against the wall with his mouth hanging open. 

Jacken peered at the human and then back at Morrigan. _Why did she need us here for--_

And then he felt it. The spirit looked for the child, who Cole was ushering behind a wall. The child. It was the child. He had the essence of the Old God. The dragon of the Fifth Blight. Jacken crouched by Anders, watching Morrigan fight. No one could shapeshift into a dragon that he knew of. Except for one extremely powerful spirit, split into fragments. The Lady of Justice, of terrible Vengeance.

Mythal. Also known by Flemeth. Also known by Andraste.

And then he realized. _That’s why I’m here. I am a fragment of Mythal._

“Anders,” Jacken said quietly. “Why was I trapped outside the Fade?”

Anders did a double-take at him. “You….told me that you had to find something. That you weren’t complete. You thought you needed a purpose.”

“Yes….” Jacken said softly. “But not that one. It was the wrong purpose. That boy has the essence of Flemeth.”

Anders paused. “I…thought he had the essence of the Old God dragon from the Fifth Blight.”

“He does. The Blight only lasted a year, not like a true Blight. The dragon of the Fifth Blight was Flemeth. Only Flemeth could shift her shape into a dragon. Morrigan is her daughter. Now the boy contains a part of Flemeth. That’s why I’m here. Flemeth was also Mythal, the elven goddess of Justice.”

“You mean…. _you’re_ part of Flemeth?”

Jacken sat down next to Anders. “She….must have brought you to me. Knowing you would try to help. Knowing you would go to Kirkwall, where so much red lyrium already was. That we would go mad. That we…would be her puppets.”

“Why would Flemeth want to start that kind of chaos?” Anders asked him. “Is she in league with Corypheus?”

“….I don’t think so. Flemeth burns with vengeance because she was betrayed. Her servant joined the Inquisition and Corypheus held him in Redcliffe. I don’t think the Herald was intended to die there. But now that the Herald has returned…now that Flemeth seems to have taught her daughter her dragon form…”

“Perhaps Flemeth knew that Kieran was the one person that Morrigan would always keep safe? So she buried a piece of her soul in him?”

“I wonder if Morrigan finally learned who Flemeth really was.”

The two dragons clashed together, snapping. And then Morrigan pounced on the nest mother and clamped her jaws into the other’s throat. She bit down, tearing. Blood poured out of the nest mother, screaming and roaring fire. Morrigan held on with her great teeth until there was a horrible, wet _crunch_ , cracking the high dragon’s armored scales and meeting in the middle of her neck. Her blood sprayed into the lava under the bridge. The liquid fire gurgled and belched up red smoke.

Morrigan panted before flashing white, staggering back from the dragon in her human body. She collapsed to her hands and knees. Kieran and Cole raced out to her.

“Mother, are you all right!” Kieran asked, kneeling, touching at Morrigan’s face.

Cole knelt and put an arm under the witch to help her stand.

“Of course I am all right. Simply tired,” Morrigan said softly, holding her side with one hand, the other curling fingers into Cole’s shirt. 

Kieran touched Morrigan’s hip, staying at her side as Jacken and Anders stood.

The dragonlings, the drakes and other young crowded near them, sniffing at Cole curiously. Some nuzzled Kieran or licked at the blood on Morrigan, making her grumble. 

“….how did you do that?” Anders asked her.

“Turns out my mother dear still had a few last tricks to teach me. After the Herald was killed, I went to Mythal’s temple. Celene was curious about magics of many kinds. I was permitted soldiers to lead an expedition into the Wilds. I found the Temple and the secrets within it. One of them was the Well of Sorrows, another was Flemeth, who is also Mythal and the last was the eluvian hidden there. It was there that I learned that the Herald would return. And when she did—I would then take back the dragons.” She absently touched Kieran’s hair, running her fingers through it.

“And then what?” Anders asked softly.

“And then we loose the dragons from Orzammar and with them, we take back the sky. But there are other signs that must appear first. The demons that plague the world spawn by a massive demon of Fear, which has nested in the Western Approach. It controls the whole region now with darkness and fear. We must head there and await for the sky to turn black with eyes like tiny stars.”

Jacken touched his forehead. “Am I a fragment of Mythal?”

Morrigan looked down and then back at him. “Yes. And when she discovered you, she brought you a well-meaning but naïve young mage so you could survive outside the Fade.”

“But why? Why destroy so many lives just for one spirit?” Anders asked.

“Because she is a horrendous old bitch, mostly,” Morrigan grumbled. 

“You shouldn’t say that about grandma,” Kieran said reproachfully.

Morrigan huffed. “Mother dear won’t hold back, my love. She was desperate to keep all traces of herself alive and she has managed—through trickery, blood magic, possession and death. But since Corypheus likely did exactly what she was planning—now she seems fit to help end it.”

“Ah, the ‘if I can’t destroy everything, no one can’ defense,” Anders said flatly.

“Indeed,” Morrigan agreed. “Kieran can turn the dragons to us and we will soon head out for the Approach. Go and rest for now. We have a long way to go.”

 

 

 

Tam sat inside a small house, drinking. She was partaking rather heavily in the wine the Wardens had brought with them. She put her forehead in her hands. Beside her, Dorian had filled the kitchen with a haze of blue smoke. 

“So…if we do get back…” Dorian began.

“If we get back, I’m going to need to have a lot of heart-to-hearts. And also drink every bottle that’s in the cellar at Haven.”

“I will be right there with you, my friend.”

“Ha, it’s weird, isn’t it?” Tam said. “We barely knew each other before this and now…I feel like you’re the only person I know.”

“If it’s any comfort, the feeling is mutual.” Dorian took out his case of hash. “That lady, Hawke, was kind enough to share her supply with me. Even the hash is different. It’s thick and dense and dark.” He opened it and pushed it over to Tam.

“I don’t have a pipe,” Tam said.

“Ah, you traveled unprepared, lady Dalish.” Dorian took out a wheel of leather and took out his backup pipe, packing it and pushing it over to her. 

“I’m not sure how to come to terms with most of this,” she admitted, picking up the pipe. “It doesn’t quite seem real. They’re all going to die. Minaeve told me that King Alistair was sick after they got him out of Denerim—and whatever it was—he still has it. He’s been hiding it. Maybe it has something to do with him being a Warden? I hope not but…” she sighed, “And…all the others…”

“Watching them all die slowly…ha…it’s….” Dorian shook his head, reaching up to loosen one of the straps on his body armor. “Make sure you do something worthwhile with the time you have left.”

Tam furrowed her eyebrows, looking at him curiously.

“The commander,” he said. “I didn’t realize it until you ran through the gates to him. You had five archers ready to shoot you if the guards had given the command. You lost your head when you saw him. You should probably do something about it before we all die.”

Tam smiled a little. “It’s difficult to think of him as being a different Cullen. But…he’s not the same, either. It’s—“

There was a knock on the door and Hawke poked her head in. “Inquisitor?”

“Come in, Hawke,” Tam said, standing up. “Can I help you?”

“Just wanted to chat for a second.”

“Should I leave?” Dorian asked her, lifting his eyebrows.

“Normally, I’d say no. But—not to pry—but you like men, right?” Hawke asked.

Tam started and looked at Dorian. “Wh—you do?!”

Dorian huffed. “Well. I. Usually would not be so…loud. About it.”

“I don’t care,” Hawke said. “I’ve known enough debauchery in my time to recognize an expert in the field.” She grinned at Dorian and winked. “Point is, I have a friend here—Fredrick Trevelyan. He’s a Warden. We call him Rick. And he hasn’t been able to shut up about you since he saw you. But—we tease him a lot—and he has a hard time talking to people. So, this is me doing my good deed for the day. If you could go talk to him—if you had a mind to—I’d appreciate it.”

“He was the, uh, dark-haired young man with the pole-arm?”

“The one with the _striking_ blue eyes,” Hawke said, dramatically flipping her hair.

“I can be convinced,” Dorian smiled and stood up. 

When the Tevinter had left, Hawke sat down in the chair across from Tam. “So. Dalish—it’s Tam, right?”

“Yes.”

“Look, this isn’t usually my jam. I’ll make this quick. Sort of. Cullen.” She lifted her eyebrows.

Tam felt her stomach drop, the color draining from her face. “Um. Yes?”

Hawke looked her over. “Cullen is my friend. Not like _that_. Just my friend.” Hawke ran her fingers through her black hair, seeming slightly uncomfortable. “He’s been through a lot—before all this shit. He was at the Ferelden Circle when it imploded. He was at Kirkwall when…fucking Kirkwall happened. And now he’s mixed up in all this shit. All I wanna say is: he’s my friend.” She drew her dagger and placed it on the table. “I don’t want anyone hurting him.”

Tam’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you…threatening me?”

“Yes,” said Hawke flatly. “He’s been through a lot. And if anyone deserves some happiness, it’s that poor bastard. So if you’re just screwing him around, I would advise you to quit now.”

“I’m not—we hadn’t even…we…just…” Tam said, shoulders curling into herself.

Hawke lifted a hand. “I’d prefer us to be friends, if possible, Inquisitor. But that only happens if you’re good to _my_ friends. I’ve known Cullen a long time. About seven or eight years now. He kept an eye on me the whole time I was in Kirkwall. And I never really realized it. Mostly because I was stupid—and people were always trying to kill me. You know how it is.”

Tam cracked a smile, nodding.

“So this is me paying him back for the years he looked after me and didn’t lock me up in Kirkwall’s Circle. He’s a good man. He’s been through a lot. And without him, Kirkwall would have fallen a lot sooner than it did. He’s been caged up in the council hall for days, stressing about everything, naturally. He’s not very good at not worrying. He was so distracted after you arrived that we actually called our meeting in early. He was unfocused. And now he’s been in the armory, obsessively cleaning and repairing his gear and any other gear he can get his hands on. He even took _mine_. I’m a mage. Not much he can do except add some tassels and glitter and call it good enough.”

“So…you…want me to go talk to him?” Tam asked.

Hawke snorted. “I’d like you to do more than that, with any luck. Sort of like sending your hot Tevinter friend to Rick. Yeah, I said _talk_ but he knew what I meant. Go distract the hell out of him. No one else stays in the Council hall. Except Cullen. So everyone else will be gone for the evening. And we’re planning on going into the mines in two days. It’s gonna be harder to get any time once we’re in the deep Dark. Understand?”

“I—yes. I. I understand.”

“Good,” Hawke said brightly. “Conversation successful. Ha, besides, I know how it is with these Chantry boys. You almost can’t _help_ but want to corrupt them.” Hawke winked at her and got out of her chair, returning her dagger to its sheath and heading out the door.

Tam breathed in deep on Dorian’s hash, letting the heady lightness overcome her senses for a moment. And then she stood up, grabbing her staff and headed out.

The blue glow of Veil Fire lit the camp in Cadash Thaig. It made Tam’s light brown hair shine as she pulled it back into a tail before entering the council hall. It was dark and quiet, empty as a crypt. She walked through it silently on her bare feet, slipping downstairs to cold stone floors. It certainly smelled like a crypt down here, all dusty and damp. It made her mouth taste metallic. She heard the _shink_ sound of a whet stone on metal and followed it to a large door. It was cracked a little. Inside, she could see Cullen sitting by the fireplace. He was alone, looking haggard and worn.

She touched the door, easing it open.

He sensed her, of course, instincts honed from years of combat. He whipped around and paused. “Tam,” he said, laying his sword aside and standing. “Can I—er—do you need something?”

Tam shut and locked the door behind her, standing her staff against it. Her fingers twisted around each other as she walked over to him. His armor was sitting by the fireplace. He was wearing loose linens and boots. “I, uh…” she started and then looked down, taking a deep breath. “So. High chance of everyone dying, right?”

Cullen looked aside at the fireplace as he sat in his chair again. “…very likely.”

It brought him eye-level to her collarbones. “Cullen,” she said softly. When he looked up at her, she stepped into his space and leaned down. The kiss was a small one, almost chaste, just questing and searching, curious. When she broke it and looked at him, he was staring at her. She glanced away. “I, uh—I’m sorry. I think I thought that—“

Cullen reached up, touching her face and drawing her down to him again. His stubble scratched against her cheek. She didn’t even mind. His hands slid down her spine, wrapping around her and pulling her close. Her fingers walked over his shoulders, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

It seemed to boil over in both of them.

Cullen had his hands on her, scrambling for the belts and catches of her body armor, dragging it away as she untied the laces on his shirt and pulled it off of him. The firelight cast flickering shadows over the musculature of him as his shirt slid to the floor. Cullen tore off her clothes, standing up and pushing her against the wall. “When they told me you were dead…” he said quietly, “…I….” he shook himself and smashed their mouths together. 

His rough fingers had her trousers off and he was pressing a finger inside of her. She bit back a sound, spine arching against the cold stone. He felt her fingers catch on his shoulders, digging into the flesh with her nails. He spread her slickness up, finding that button of nerves among her folds, so small and sensitive. He massaged it, feeling her shake. Cullen leaned over her, the fringe of his hair touching the stone above her head, feeling her hips jerk against his fingers until she was coming apart. He groaned at the sound of it and shifted immediately. His rough palms drug down to her thighs, soft and warm, hooking under them and lifting her up against the wall. He looked into her face, searching her green eyes for confirmation.

She wrapped her arms around him and nodded. He watched her expression become hazy and thick when he slowly pressed inside of her. Her head bowed, pressing against his shoulder as he hitched his hips, letting her pull him in deeper. Slowly sheathing himself in that soft heat. She strangled a moan against his skin. Cullen leaned into Tam, bracing himself in the wall and jerking—looking for her reaction and felt her clench tighter around him. He saw spots in his eyes and thrust deeper, slow at first to get used to the rhythm and then incrementally faster. Faster, until her back was slick with sweat, burning as it touched the cold wall when he plunged into her. He felt her starting to tighten around him, her moan escalating.

“Tam…” he managed and then spilled inside of her, surging as she clenched unbearably around him. 

They both trembled, holding onto each other until Cullen could gather the strength to step back. He sat on a low couch, holding her in his lap. 

“We better win this one,” Tam said quietly. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Cullen combed fingers into her hair. “If we die, we die together. All of us.”

He felt her tremble a little and then nod, burying her eyes in his shoulder.

 

 

~~


	6. Val Royeaux is Dark Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris/Josephine  
> \-------------  
> Mood music for this part: Obscure You Deserve by CryoChamber: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WsFAVNzFPEo  
> \-------------
> 
>  
> 
> When they finally emerged from the sewers, it was nearly dawn. The city would soon be bathed in dim, grey-green light. It would look somehow more desolate during the day. Everyone took a few moments to wash their hands and faces (except Oghren, who had found a corked bottle in a dead woman’s hand and had taken it, making everyone else cringe when he took a deep drink from it).

The silence of Val Royeaux was eerie. Josephine grabbed a lantern and went to the front of the _Painted Star_ to take them into the docks, jumping to the boardwalk and grabbing one of the lines. Grim pushed the anchor over and took another glowing blue lantern to hop over to the wooden slats as well, to guide in the _Red Wraith_. 

Josephine stood on the pier and looked into the city. It was dim and grey, utterly silent. They’d docked where the Summer Bazaar had been. The market was deserted now, the whole place a mess of destroyed shops and bodies. There were so many bodies.

Fenris entered her peripheral vision because of his glowing tattoos. She glanced sidelong at him. “Have you ever been to Val Royeaux?”

“No,” he answered quietly, looking down the wide street that led from the docks and into the city.

“It was beautiful once,” she said and a ghost of her old expression came back, the kind one, the one that longed for peace and better times. And then she shook it away. “Here comes your friend.”

Isabela, Zevran, Oghren and Krem approached.

“Where do we go from here, Madrigal?” Krem asked.

Josephine walked over to the _Painted Star_ , where the former-slaves had gathered. “You all will stay here. It’s not safe for you in the city. If any of you can still fight, I ask you to watch our ships. When you see us coming back, make ready to sail. I want to be out of the ports as soon as we can. I can’t imagine that we’ll be unwatched once we enter Val Royeaux. There were nods from the former-slaves. Josephine selected a head for each group and they went back to the _Painted Star_ and the _Red Wraith_ to eat and rest.

Grim hooked the veil fire lantern to his belt and everyone checked their weapons and packs. Rocky and Oghren were taking alternate swigs from a skin of some noxious alcohol, chatting about the bombs he created to blow up the Magister’s residence in Nessland.

Josephine took out a map and headed for the portmaster’s office. It was locked but Fenris gently urged her aside and kicked the door in. She gave him a nod of thanks and entered.

The portmaster’s office was empty and thick with dust. A dead man was lying in a bedroom, face down. A rusted sword stuck out of his head like a flag. Josephine wrinkled her nose but went to the corpse anyway, searching him until she found his keys. They unlocked every door and searched every room until Isabela came across a set of maps.

“Here we are. Jackpot.” She shoved some rusted silverware off a desk and laid the maps down. They showed the layouts of the city. There were red markings in some places that appeared to be newer than the ink used to draw the maps.

Josephine studied them in the blue lantern light. “I imagine these are places where the roads are now blocked. Though it’s unclear whether they collapsed or if they were destroyed purposely. Possibly to contain residents—or to attempt to barricade themselves from Corypheus.”

“Like rats trapped in a maze,” Zevran said quietly, frowning as everyone took a moment to imagine the claustrophobic terror of being trapped and waiting for death.

“What about sewers?” Fenris asked.

Josephine paged through the maps. “Ah, the portmaster would have needed these in case of flooding. I wonder who killed him. And how they locked the door if they didn’t take his keys.” 

Fenris exchanged a look with Oghren and nodded a little. The dwarf tapped Rocky and Skinner and the three left the front office to search the rooms again.

Josephine spread the blueprints out. Little lines spidered all across Val Royeaux. Josephine laid the above-ground map next to it. “Here is the Grand Cathedral,” she said, marking the spot on both maps. “And, we are here….” She marked their location to the south east on both maps. “It looks like the sewers were cut off just outside of the bazaar but beyond that, we can enter here, near the City Guard building. And then….” She traced her finger along the sewer map. “This will take us close to the royal palace but all underground entrances into the palace appear to be blocked as well—same for the Grand Cathedral. We’ll have to break in, likely.”

“Rocky can take care of that,” Krem said. “No door exists that he can’t blast through.”

“We can search the guard post as well,” Zevran said. “The weapons and armory have likely been looted by now—but it never hurts to have extra powder if we can find some.”

Grim grunted.

“Do you ever say anything?” Isabela asked him.

The man grunted at her again.

Isabela smirked. “I bet I could make you say something.”

Grim blinked at her.

“Well, not here. Not with company, anyway. Though that would certainly make _them_ say something, wouldn’t it?” She winked at him.

Grim grunted and looked away, seeming suddenly awkward. Dalish dissolved into silent giggles behind him. Krem fought back a little smile. 

The side door opened and Oghren came through with Rocky and Skinner. “Checked the place again—we found a door hidden behind a wall hanging. Leads into some kind of cellar. There was a guy down there—but it looked like he killed himself.”

“Poison,” Skinner said helpfully. “I took the bottle.” 

“Get anything else of use and let’s get going. I’d rather not be out in the open for long,” Krem said. “Even with nightfall approaching. We haven’t seen darkspawn in months—but it’s still a risk. And if Corypheus’ followers have made any kind of base here—they’ll be watching.”

Josephine nodded, folding up the city’s maps and stuffing them into her satchel. 

They gathered what they could and headed out into the dark. The lanterns were extinguished and they let Rocky lead them. He and Oghren still had their Stone sense and with it, the best vision in the dark. They kept to side streets and shadows, wary of open doors or windows. They were like gaping mouths into darkness, where anything could lurk. They layered what clothing they could find on Fenris—his glowing tattoos were like beacons after nightfall. They were able to stifle them to a dim glimmer. They would simply look like reflections in the darkness—so long as one did not study his movement. So Krem and Grim walked on either side to shield him from any searching eyes, just to be sure. The Madrigal walked with Rocky, still draped in her black robes and scarves, like a graceful, walking pillar of darkness. A pair of wicked, obsidian shortswords crossed over her lower back. There were two more daggers at her thigh and another secured to the front of her body armor with a small, leather clasp.

The back of Isabela’s neck prickled as they walked. “We are definitely being watched,” she said in a murmur to Zevran.

The elf nodded. “I feel it as well.”

Skinner was fingering her knives. “Let him come and greet us then.”

But no one did. 

The city was utterly silent. It was like a vacuum of sound. It felt thick, almost loud, pregnant with anticipation that was left unsatisfied when Rocky lifted his fist to signal a stop. Oghren plowed right into Josephine’s legs, not paying attention and burped loudly.

Fenris grabbed the Madrigal to steady her. She huffed quietly and straightened the black leather of her armor. 

“Sorry,” Oghren said, shrugging.

“You are exactly as described in all the stories,” Josephine told him mildly.

That made Oghren grin. “Well, whenever you’d like to, Madrigal—I can confirm all the _other_ stories too. I mean—around your hips—“

Krem clapped him upside the head.

“Ow. Geez, you gnarly asshole.”

“Would you guys shut up,” Isabela managed, trying to stifle her chuckles.

Rocky and Skinner picked the locks on the door to the City Guard building and they slipped inside. 

As expected, the Guard building had been ransacked but, surprisingly, not everything was missing. Lanterns were relit by Dalish as they ventured deeper inside the building. Perhaps given the wealth of the district and the location so deep into the city, no one had quite dared to loot the place entirely. Uniforms, body armor, food and all the dagger racks were empty. But many pole-arms, broadswords and bows remained. Skinner staked claim to go through them.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Krem said. “We could use this stuff. Better than it sitting here to get rusty.”

“We’ll come back for it if we can. But I want everyone with me when we reach the Cathedral,” Josephine said. “We don’t know what we’ll meet inside.”

“Good enough for me,” Skinner said and she started searching the dead guards that littered the building until she got a set of keys.

Dalish stopped at another door and raised a hand to the others, pulling her staff forward. Grim walked up to her, giving her a curious look.

“There’s someone in here. Someone still alive,” she breathed. “I can feel them. Someone who is…scared.”

“A watchman?” Josephine asked softly.

“I don’t think so…” Dalish said. She touched the knob and turned it. It opened with barely a sound, a soft click into a pitch black room.

Dalish entered first, Grim right behind her. Rocky came next. He waved his lantern and pointed down. Under his feet, was a trapdoor. 

Fenris stepped forward. Josephine stood at his side. When Rocky flipped the hatch open with his boot, the elf jumped down. His tattoos flared and he felt something slam into his arm. 

“Don’t come any closer!” A voice shattered the silence. “Stay back!”

Josephine leapt down. “Don’t! We’re not here to hurt anyone!”

Across the room, curled up in a corner was a young lady. She had a simple crossbow in her hands. Fenris jerked the bolt out of his arm. “Bit too late for that, girl.”

“Fenris,” Josephine grabbed him. “She’s scared. Dalish—get down here.” She kept hold of Fenris’ arm, pulling his sleeve away, fingers gliding over his tattoos to find the puncture. The elf could have easily shaken her off but…he didn’t. He looked at her, seeming a little confused, watching her remove one of her black scarves to wrap the wound.

Zevran hopped down next. “Ah, you are hiding here, then?” He asked the girl.

She shook. “I don’t want anything—if you’re thieves, take what you want and go. I don’t want any trouble.”

“We’re here to help, sweetness,” Isabela said gently, holding her lantern up higher so the girl could see them. “What are you doing down here?”

“I…” she trailed off, starting to shake when Krem came down.

“No one’s gonna hurt you. Fenny has magic tattoos—he’ll heal. Besides, if he isn’t injured, he won’t have anything to be grumpy about.” Isabela closed the distance, kneeling beside the young woman. “You don’t sound Orleasian.”

“I’m not…” the girl said, softly. “I’m a Marcher.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I…” the girl swallowed nervously. “I…came here to look for my brother. He was being held in the White Spire by Templars.”

“An apostate then?” Dalish asked, laying a band of healing magic over Fenris’ arm.

“Yes…” she swallowed hard. “My…my brother was taken near the border when we were traveling along the Imperial Highway near Val Chevin but instead of releasing him to Wycome—he was brought to Val Royeaux instead.”

“Were you merchants?” Zevran asked.

“Yes…we were.”

“You and who else?” Isabela asked.

“My mother and father.”

“And where are they now? Did they come here with you?”

“No….my father killed my mother. After my brother was taken, I ran away. That was about four years ago now. I never heard from my older brother again. So I came here to try to find out what happened to him. If there was…any chance that he survived…”

Isabela exchanged a look with Zevran. “It’s not likely, sweetness.”

“I know….but after I came here…the sky opened….and things got worse and…I was trapped in the city. So after the riots quieted, I came here to hide.”

“How old are you? What’s your name?” Isabela asked as Krem lit a small hearth near the hatch ladder.

“I’m seventeen. My name is Amarin.”

“We have ships at the docks—you should come with us,” Zevran told her. “It’s not safe here.”

“What are you all doing here?” Amarin asked. “No one comes to Val Royeaux anymore.”

“We’re looking for something at the Cathedral. We’re trying to slip underground,” Krem said, crossing his arms sternly.

Amarin’s eyes widened. “The entrance near here is blocked. I’ve been using the sewers to get around for months.”

“Can you show us?” Josephine asked, still standing beside Fenris. When the girl nodded, she got into her satchel. “Skinner, have her mark what she knows.”

“Can you use anything besides that crossbow, kid?” Oghren asked her as Skinner put the map on the table and the girl finally got up.

“I have a sword but…I’ve never been taught to use it properly. My friend, Aveline, has been teaching me some.”

“Aveline?” Isabela asked.

“She was a soldier from Ferelden during the Blight and then a guard in Kirkwall, she told me. She said she left after the Chantry blew up and returned to Ferelden. After Denerim was destroyed last year, she tried to get a ship back to the Free Marches but…no one would take her. So she came here, hoping to find someone who was going to…stand up to the Elder One. But no one did—or well, those who did, died. And she got trapped here, like I did.”

“And she’s here? Big girl? Red hair?”

Amarin nodded, surprised. “Y-yes….she was out scouting for supplies. We only go out at night. We use the sewers if we have to go out during the day. Corypheus’ people collapsed the sewers that lead into the palace and the Cathedral. They must know that some people are still here…but they don’t come into the city anymore. Not anymore.” Amarin looked at her hands.

Isabela looked at Fenris. 

“What happened when they came into city?” Skinner asked.

Amarin stared at the maps, but her eyes were elsewhere. “They….after the initial chaos and the deaths…they would come to find people. To make them into monsters. Or the girls—they would drag them off, screaming. And they did….horrible things to them…” Amarin shuddered. “They did…terrible things. And to boys too. Children sometimes. They would—“

“All right,” Josephine stopped her, walking up to the table. “It’s all right. We’ll meet this Aveline and you two can join us. We’ll help you.”

Amarin took some deep breaths, seeming on the verge of hyperventilating. Dalish touched her shoulder, flexing her aura to the girl, to help her calm down. 

Above them, a door slammed open. Rocky and Grim, who were still upstairs, jumped up.

“Who are you!” A voice, stern and commanding rang out. “If you’ve harmed my friend, I’ll show you your insides. Get away from the hatch! Now!”

“Oh my fucking shit!” Isabela cried out. “I know that voice! Ahh!” She whirled around and ran to the ladder, scampering up. “Avvy!” 

It was, indeed, Aveline. She stared, looking shellshocked when the pirate jumped up and hugged her. Aveline leaned back from her. “I-Isabela?”

“Fuck me, Big Girl, it’s surprisingly good to see you! How are you? Kickin it high in Val Royeaux, eh?” 

Aveline finally seemed to catch up to her. “I…I can’t believe it. I…how are you not dead?”

Isabela grinned. “I found my old friend Zevran, who was traveling with a dwarf—Oghren—and we found Fenris.”

“You _found_ Fenris? Where! How?”

“Phht, doing what Fenris is always doing. Killing Tevinters along the border of the Marches. We found him in Wycome after the city was destroyed. Then we went to Nessland on the south coast.”

“What in the hell are you doing _here_?”

“We ran into some former Inquisition folks—that group that Varric hooked up with and/or was kidnapped by? We met some of them in Nessland and we decided to go with them.”

“The Inquisition is dead—they all died in Redcliffe.”

“No, Aveline.” Isabela couldn’t seem to fight her grin. “They found a letter on a messenger almost six weeks ago. As of then, they were still alive. They somehow escaped Redcliffe.”

“Maker’s breath,” Aveline said faintly. And then she started again when Fenris appeared from the hatch. “Fenris!”

“I suppose if you would be anywhere, it _would_ be in a guard post,” Fenris said dryly, walking up to her.

That made Aveline chuckle, shaking the elf’s hand warmly. “You know me too well.”

“I’m pretty sure this is your natural habitat,” Isabela told her, grinning.

The others began to climb up from the hatch. Isabela made the introductions. Amarin seemed to drift automatically to Aveline’s side. “They want to get into the Grand Cathedral, Aveline.”

Aveline glanced at Isabela, who nodded in confirmation. And then she looked at the Antivan woman. She was standing beside Fenris, yet ahead of the others—who were obviously mercenaries. “What about you? You seem a little different from this lot.”

“I am Josephine Montilyet, formally of Antiva City, and former Ambassador to the Inquisition.”

“Or Madrigal, for short,” Isabela said.

“Then you knew Varric.”

“I did. His stories about you were colorful, to say the least. But your strength and bravery is legend both in Ferelden and in the Free Marches. If you so desired, you can come with us.”

“Why are you going to the Cathedral?”

“We intend to get Andraste’s Ashes. They were secured there before the Conclave.”

Aveline looked at Isabela and Fenris, studying their expressions and then nodded. “All right. If these two idiots see fit to risk their necks, I can do little else for offer my own out. Amarin, you can stay here.”

“I don’t—but…I…I don’t want to hide anymore. I…I spend…too much time being afraid,” Amarin said softly. “Besides, if you go and you die…I’ll never forgive myself. After everything you’ve done to help me…”

Aveline hesitated and then nodded. “All right, Amarin. Go get your gear and your sword and the crossbow. But you’ll follow my direction, all right?”

“Yes, Aveline.” 

Isabela chuckled when the girl hurried off. “Oh, Aveline. You can never help but find someone to recruit no matter where you go.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Admit it, Big Girl, you missed me!”

“Shut up!”

 

 

 

When they ventured out into the dark again, Rocky led with Aveline. Amarin walked behind her with Josephine. 

“Um, um….Mister…uh….Mister Fenris?”

Fenris blinked, seeming almost startled at how Amarin addressed him. “Uh. Huh?”

“I, um….I’m sorry about your arm.”

Fenris shrugged. “It’s no matter. It is healed enough.”

Josephine smiled a little. “What he means is: thank you.”

Fenris grumbled but didn’t object. 

“You know, I healed that wound for you,” Dalish said, smirking. “You can remove the Madrigal’s scarf now.”

Fenris bristled. “I’ll leave it. In case you’ve done a shoddy job.”

Dalish burst into silent giggles. Skinner fought down a grin. 

Aveline rolled her eyes. “Be quiet. Things besides us come out at night here.” The warrior touched Rocky’s shoulder and pointed down. 

The dwarf knelt and got the sewer cover off. He dropped down first and lit a match before nodding to the others. Soon they were all clustered inside the sewer, lighting their veil fire lanterns. The passage was dingy, filthy, thick with corpses and deepstalkers. 

“This entrance will take us to the sea wall outside the palace. The Cathedral isn’t far from there,” Aveline said quietly, waving Amarin to come to the front with her and Rocky. 

It felt like hours of walking, sometimes crawling, through muck, shit, blood and corpses. Dalish had to keep her magic to a minimum, in case any magisters were hanging around above them. The closer they got to the palace, the more likely that would be. So Skinner and Zevran took point on driving the deepstalkers away. 

When they finally emerged from the sewers, it was nearly dawn. The city would soon be bathed in dim, grey-green light. It would look somehow more desolate during the day. Everyone took a few moments to wash their hands and faces (except Oghren, who had found a corked bottle in a dead woman’s hand and had taken it, making everyone else cringe when he took a deep drink from it). 

Aveline led them along the seawall, hidden from view by the high rock. The sounds of their passage were swallowed by the waves. Fenris saw the first guards. He reached out, grabbing Aveline’s arm. When she looked at him, he nodded upwards. 

There were two guards along the railing of a balcony high above them. Everyone ducked in against the seawall. The guards were leaning on the railing, chatting. Their post here was likely considered dull with Val Royeaux being almost completely empty. 

“Why even hold this dump?” Oghren grumbled.

“It’s symbolic,” Josephine said quietly. “They hold it so that they can say it belongs to the Elder One.”

“How far to the Cathedral?” Fenris asked. 

“About a mile,” Aveline said softly. “We should leave the guards. They’ll come to us when we get into the Cathedral anyway. I’d rather not have to fight until we’re in a position to defend ourselves. Not up against a seawall with our boots in the shallows.”

Fenris nodded grudgingly. 

They kept out a careful eye, avoiding or hiding from the sparse collection of roaming guards. There seemed to be, perhaps, two dozen of them around the palace. A large span of gardens separated it from the Cathedral. 

Skinner ducked ahead of them with Isabela, creeping through the brush and peering out into the hazy light. 

The Cathedral was massive, a veritable compound with a gargantuan open square in front of it. It was surrounded by thick, solid walls on all sides except for the opening to the square. The walls were prowled by pairs of guards. Near the center was a pillar. The stone around it pierced the ground with diamonds, suggesting a torch. 

“There’s no way onto the walls from the outside,” Josephine murmured to the group. “We must stay in the shadows to get to the main doors.”

Fenris raised a hand. “I can handle this.”

Josephine peered at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re about to have your mind blown, Madrigal,” Isabela told her.

Fenris removed the extra layers they put on him. Aveline took them, stuffing them into her pack. The elf placed his palms together, his tattoos flashed and in an instant, he was blue and transparent.

The others gasped. 

“I’ll take care of the guards.” The elf vanished around the hedges. He was barely a shimmer in the rising sunlight, flickering across the stone.

“That’s incredible,” Josephine said softly. “He…turns nearly invisible.”

“And he can fade through solid objects,” Aveline said. “Once you’ve seen him stick his hand through someone—it’s all over. He either erases their existence somehow or he explodes them.”

“Makes him pretty good at other things too,” Isabela smirked. “When we were in Kirkwall he showed me some of his other talents.”

“Was there _anyone_ in Kirkwall you didn’t have sex with?” Aveline asked dryly.

Isabela opened her mouth to answer and then looked thoughtful, stroking her chin. 

Aveline grunted in disgust.

“Anders. I never did Anders. Granted, it was kind of hot when he did the whole crazy revolutionary bit—but when he wanted to kill innocent people—such a turn-off.”

“Whatever happened to him?” Aveline asked. 

Isabela shrugged. “Probably either dead or crazy. Or both, but in reverse order. Oh, I never did Merrill either. She was…too sweet. I would have almost felt bad.”

“Almost,” Zevran chuckled.

There was a muted cry above them and a guard slammed down into the stone. His neck was broken. The other followed. The other guards peered around, signaling with their hands to hurry to the spot where the two guards had apparently fallen. Eight stayed on the walls, two disappeared back inside to approach from the ground. 

“C’mon, sweetness, time to put that crossbow to good use,” Isabela said as she and Skinner approached the hedges with throwing knives. 

Amarin crept forward with them, a little more nervous but readying the bow. Another sound above them, a thump, a cry of surprise, a gooey burst and blood rained down over the wall. The two guards on the ground stopped about halfway across the square, looking up. They both took a step back, one drew a crossbow. 

“Now,” Isabela said. She jumped out of the hedge. Amarin followed. She took aim at the one without a bow.

Too late, the other guard spotted them. By then, his fellow had a bolt sticking out of her chest like a stake. The woman staggered and fell. Skinner and Isabela filled the bowman with small knives like a pincushion. Josephine scrambled out of the hedge and turned to look up at the walls. All eight guards were dead. Fenris heaved them over the side one by one and then he followed. He landed on one, her stomach bursting apart. The elf took a deep breath and quieted his power, the tattoos flared and then calmed. Fenris grunted, the familiar pain flaring over his body. 

“Holy shit,” Skinner said, sounding quite impressed.

“How do you do that?” Krem asked.

“Are you all right?” Josephine asked him, reaching out but not quite touching him. 

“The tattoos are made from lyrium,” Fenris grunted. “It is always painful. No matter. The guards are dead.”

“Let’s go,” Aveline said and they hurried across the square. 

None of them felt comfortable out in the open like this after spending so many months caged in by the dark. It quickened their pace. Skinner produced a set of keys from one of the guards to unlock a side door. She ducked in first, racing down the hall. There were two guards there. She jumped on them. The rest flooded in after her. The first floor was mostly human or elven guards. Dalish seemed to take that as a personal affront that elves would join Corypheus willingly. She went after them with a vengeance. They stayed on the first floor—because Josephine said the Ashes were sealed underground. But other guards from the other floors hurried to the sounds of fighting. But even the elves and few dwarves that dotted the Elder One’s ranks didn’t surprise them as much as the Saarabas.

“Stop!” Fenris commanded. 

The others all paused. 

“Oh no….” Aveline said quietly.

“Saarabas,” Fenris said. “Qunari mages.”

“What the hell would _Qunari_ be doing with Corypheus?” Isabela scowled.

“Qunari are really good at two things,” Krem said, “Fighting and following rules. It’s the entire basis of the Qun.”

“He is correct,” Zevran said, glancing at Oghren. “Remember Sten?”

“Yeah, that’s…pretty much it,” Oghren agreed.

The Saarabas came down the stairs. There were half a dozen of them. Fenris stepped ahead of the others. “You are Saarabas who serve the Elder One?”

“We are,” said the Saarabas in front of the others.

“Surely the Qun would disagree with his method of ‘ruling’,” Fenris said.

“What would a _bas_ know of the Qun?”

Fenris switched to Qunlat. “ _More than you might imagine._ ”

“ _Are you Viddathari?_ ”

“ _No. But I lived among you for a time. Your people saved my life._ ”

“ _It was the Will of the Qun that as all other gods died, we put our strength where strength is valued._ ”

“ _And I imagine the Elder One has use for Qunari mages that serve willingly._ ”

“ _Our lips are no longer sewn shut. We are now sent to the Elder One instead. That is the sacrifice we make for the sake of our People so that they may live in peace._ ”

Fenris sighed softly and switched back to common Thedan. “We are here only to retrieve something. No one else needs to die.”

“We do our duty for our people, _bas_. Our lives were promised to the Elder One for the peace and safety of the Qun and those who follow it.”

“If you don’t believe in this shit, then you don’t have to do it,” Aveline scowled.

The lead Saarabas looked at Aveline. “You are doing something you believe in. Our lives were promised to the Elder One in exchange for peace. We live and die by the will of the Qun.”

Aveline sighed and looked at Fenris. “No negotiating then?”

Fenris sighed and drew his sword. “No.” He bowed to the group of Saarabas. “You are powerful and honorable to your service of the Qun. For that, you have my respect.” 

The lead Saarabas nodded to him in return and raised his staff.

Aveline pointed at Amarin. “Get around the corner. Saarabas are particularly potent mages.”

The girl backed up to duck out of sight.

Fenris flashed, turning transparent again. Dalish ran ahead of the others, casting a wide barrier before raising her fist and raining down fireballs. Aveline dashed at the line. 

“Rocky, give ‘em a flashbang,” Krem commanded. “Chief always said to stay out of their range. We’ve only got one mage and the Fade-Elf. We need to get closer.” 

Rocky raced to the corner. Skinner guarded him while he opened his pack and dug out a couple flash grenades.

Josephine whirled into the middle of the fighting like smoke. She spun, slamming and slashing with her daggers. Isabela and Zevran waded in with her. One of the Saarabas dealt Josephine a vicious backhand. She hit the wall and crumpled. The flashbang came sailing over their heads. Someone screamed a warning. It went off, blinding everyone. 

Fenris and Dalish used their abilities to shield themselves, attacking the blinded Qunari ferociously. Krem, Aveline, Grim and Oghren dove in, delivering hammerblow strikes while Skinner and Rocky took out bows to fire from a distance. The Qunari that had struck her gained enough of his sight back to grab Josephine by her throat. He slammed her against the wall, once, twice—and then Fenris was on him, Fading a hand inside of his chest and then rematerializing. The mage’s heart and lungs exploded, leaving blood slopping off of Fenris’ arm. He flicked it aside and knelt to Josephine.

Aveline swung high, Oghren went low. Her sword planted in a Saarabas’ chest while Oghren’s axe hit the back of her knees. It made the female Saarabas do a complete flip and in a quick chop, her head was off. A crossbow bolt took care of another, courtesy of Amarin, who had run across the room to stand with Skinner and Rocky. 

Isabela and Zevran wrapped the Fade around themselves, flickering in and out and then slamming blades into the spine of the fourth while Krem and Grim hacked the fifth apart. Dalish was a fury of magic and power, blazing as she engulfed the final Saarabas in a circle of liquid fire. Ice was growing rapidly over her chest, her throat and up across her mouth, over her nose—and then she felt the Qunari die. Dalish fell to her knees, dropping her staff and smashing at the ice to try to break it.

Grim dashed to her side, cramming his bloody fingers against her skin, grabbing into the ice and bracing her so he could pull as hard as he could. Dalish couldn’t struggle, trying to calm herself as her breath ran out. Aveline ran over, pulling out a dagger as the elf’s eyes started to water. Grim covered Dalish’s eyes and Aveline smashed the pummel of the dagger into the elf’s cheek twice. It cracked—allowing the two warriors to break it off. It tore the elf’s flesh away with it but she could breath, which was infinitely more important to Dalish. The elf took a deep, ragged breath, collapsing back into Grim’s arms. 

“Madrigal!” Krem suddenly shouted, hurrying across the room to where Fenris was kneeling beside her. “Is she all right!”

Fenris had quieted his tattoos. He was cupping the side of Josephine’s head. His hand was soaked in blood. “Her skull is fractured. She needs your healer.”

Dalish staggered up with Grim’s help, getting over to the other elf. Grim helped her kneel. Dalish took a steadying breath. “Now, c’mon, Madrigal—no more fun and games, yeah?” She put a hand over Fenris’. “If you die, what’ll I tell the chief? It’ll make us look like amateurs. And you’re the only one who knows where this holy flower pot is.” She flexed with magic, leaning against the wall and Grim while Fenris held the Madrigal’s skull together. It knitted back into place, shifting under Fenris’ hand. 

Josephine startled back into awareness, eyes jerking around. “What happened—is—is everyone all right?”

Dalish laughed a little. Fenris helped Josephine stand. “Are you all right?” he asked gruffly. “You were thrown.”

“Yes, thank you,” Josephine said, fixing her armor. “Well, let’s hope there are no more of them in the Cathedral.”

Once Dalish got her strength back, they headed into the bowels of the Grand Cathedral. They found a room with about a dozen other guards—none were mages and they made swift work of them. Josephine led them down a set of stairs to a locked door, which Isabela got open for them. Finally, they went deep into the crypts underneath the Cathedral, winding their way back to a solitary door. It was made of obsidian and crystal.

“This door is warded,” Dalish said quietly.

“It took a mage, a Templar, and the Divine’s signet ring to open it when I was brought down here,” Josephine said.

“We don’t have a Templar or the Divine’s ring,” Aveline said.

“You have Fenris,” Isabela said simply, shrugging. “He can walk through walls—not a lot of them and not heavily enchanted ones—but a lot of them, he can. You wouldn’t even need to, would you, Fenris? If you could reach through the obsidian and break the lock?”

Fenris walked up to study the door with Dalish. 

Josephine took out a small case from her satchel. “We are lucky in that I have the Divine’s ring. She gave it to Leliana before the Conclave for safekeeping. Leliana gave it to me before their last march on Redcliffe. The slavers took it from me—but Krem and Skinner got it back.”

Dalish touched the door. “Everyone else get back. I’ll use the ring and break the wards, Madrigal.”

Josephine nodded, handing the ring over and then backing up with the others. Dalish looked at Fenris, casting a barrier over the two of them. “Ready?”

Fenris closed his eyes, tattoos flashing and he turned transparent, kneeling in front of the door’s seam. He reached inside the stone, grunting as the wards flared. Dalish pushed the ring into its tiny groove and pulsed her magic through it. Fenris grabbed into the locking mechanism, flooding it with the lyrium bound to him. He wrapped his fingers around the gears, feeling them get fire-hot, burning his skin. One of his fingers snapped. He reached into the door with his other hand, grabbing into a handful of metal bits and then rematerializing. The stone bulged as the lock splintered apart. Dalish used her magic to tear the door’s wards apart.

“Fenris?” She said, unable to move but looking down and watching his eyes get hazy from pain. “Fenris! Hey!”

Josephine hurried forward. “Fenris—get your hands out of the door. Fenris!”

The elf bowed his head. Blood was seeping from the locks. He was taking careful breaths to keep his focus. The white-haired elf closed his eyes. His tattoos pulsed again. He gritted his teeth as pain crested over him in a wave. His hands fell out of the door. Josephine caught them as he rematerialized. And then braced him when he slumped to the side. He didn’t say anything. He hardly made a sound, just looking at his mangled hands. The bones were sticking out of his skin like splinters. Blood was everywhere, fingernails shorn off, bits of metal lancing his skin. 

“Must have been a safety in case of a lockpicker. Something like that would shred a pick or a thief who tried to reach in using the Fade,” Isabela said, frowning as she came forward.

Dalish felt the door get hot. She shoved the stone inward and the doors rattled, falling off their hinges and into the room beyond. She turned swiftly to kneel in front of Fenris, taking his hands. It took several long moments before his bones mended together. Dalish was sweating by the time he could move them again. She sat back against the wall to rest. Fenris closed his eyes and sat against the opposite wall until the burning pain of his tattoos calmed.

Josephine stood up and looked at Amarin. “Rocky—you, Grim and Amarin stay with them. I’ll be back in a moment.”

The others followed the former-Ambassador through the door. Oghren led the way, holding up a lantern. 

Isabela lit a match when the lantern flickered over a mass herd of candles. She lit the first and then use it to light some of the others. Zevran and Skinner helped her. Together, they illuminated a simple podium. On the podium was a glass case. In the case was a plain, white urn. 

“There it is,” Oghren said. “Ain’t she a beauty? Just like when we found her.”

“It’s rather nondescript,” Isabela said, somehow sounding disappointed. “I was expecting something…bigger.”

“You would,” Aveline told her, which made Isabela chuckle.

Josephine’s fingers skimmed over the glass, looking for a catch or lock. “There doesn’t seem to be…a lock of any kind…”

“Let me try,” Skinner said, stepping forward. She took out a metal pin, rather like a knitting needle. She braced the point in the top of the case. “Krem—give top a hit. Like hammer and nail.”

Krem nodded and drew a dagger, slamming the pommel down into the top of the pin. The glass was pierced, spider web cracks spread like fire over the top. “Perfect. This is how I break windows in houses,” said Skinner. She braced herself, jamming the pin in farther and then Oghren took hold of the case from one side. They both jerked—and it shattered apart in large hunks of glass. 

Josephine reached in, taking the urn and packing it securely in her satchel. “The Circle mage sealed it shut with a simple spell—one any mage should be able to undo. Let’s get out of here.”

But when they’d collected Fenris and Dalish and headed back upstairs, Krem stopped them. “I can hear running.”

“Could be the guards from the palace finally heard about our little disturbance,” Oghren said. 

“That is likely the case,” Aveline agreed, drawing her sword and shield. 

“I’d rather them not find out why we’re here,” Josephine said. “Can we get around them?”

“All the sewers to the Cathedral were bombed,” Amarin said. 

“There must be secret passages out—Leliana would know,” Josephine sighed a little. “Ah well. We may have to fight. Fenris—you and Dalish should stay in the hall and rest.”

“Not necessary,” Fenris growled.

“Yeah,” Dalish agreed.

“You two have done enough—“

“When we get back to the ship, then we’ll discuss who did what,” Fenris grunted.

“I wouldn’t argue,” Isabela said. “He’s stubborn as fuck.”

Josephine huffed. “Normally, I would be up for that challenge but we have things to do.” She stepped out of crypt doors. She heard the sounds of heavy boots above them. The Madrigal hurried along the passage into one of the main halls and ducked behind a curtain. 

“They have a magister with them,” Dalish murmured. “He must have been at the palace.”

“How many?” Zevran asked.

“Just one—they likely only needed one to guard this place,” Dalish told them. “At least, I can only feel one.”

Fenris put his palms together but Josephine reached over and snatched his wrist. “No. You've been in enough pain. You don’t need to do that. We will fight them head-on.”

“Not the magister,” Fenris growled and he flashed blue into the air.

“He has a personal vendetta against any and all magisters,” Isabela told them. 

“Seems more like he’s trying really hard to die,” Zevran said, chuckling as he drew his knives. “Well. Let’s go.” He wrapped himself in the Fade. Skinner and Isabela did the same and followed. Amarin hesitated, looking back at Aveline.

“If you wish to go with them, Amarin—you should. But be careful. And fall back if you are overwhelmed.”

Amarin wrapped the Fade around herself and followed the other rogues.

The warriors advanced behind them. Josephine, Dalish and Rocky followed the warriors.

There were a few dozen guards—and the fighting was fierce and brutal. Dalish threw down a glyph of paralysis to trap the magister. Fenris hadn’t been able to catch him when he Fade-stepped away. But frozen, he appeared behind the magister, grabbing into the back of his neck to keep him on his knees. When the guards were dead, Josephine approached the Magister.

He spit at her feet. “You think you’ve done something? The Elder One will come when he hears of this. You all will die.”

Josephine eye twitched. “You want to live or not? Either you answer my questions or my friend will reach inside your body and crush your lungs. One at a time. It will be very uncomfortable. And slow.”

The magister hesitated. 

Josephine raised her eyebrows. “We came expecting the Elder One to have a base of power here,” she lied. “Obviously, we were wrong. Do you know where he might keep one?”

The magister scowled. “You’re stupid then—were you hiding underground like the other worms who refuse to serve?”

Josephine looked up at Fenris. His tattoos flashed and reached _inside_ the magister.

The man froze and cried out, not daring to move. “Wait! Wait!” He could _feel_ the elf reach inside of him. Like an ice cold chunk of pain, rooting around in his body. Like when one was asleep, but becoming aware they were having a nightmare. Able to feel everything but unable to stop it. Panic flooded him, he started to shake. His breathing choked.

“Where?” Josephine asked again.

“The—ah….” His breath shortened, feeling the elf’s Fade-touched hand brush against the _bones of his spine_ , causing racking pain that he couldn’t move away from—what if the hand touched something else—something—“The Western Approach,” he choked. He felt like he was drowning, lungs arresting. “The demon there—commands and spawns the demons all over Thedas. It’s a massive demon of Fear. The Elder One is in the Black City. He infested Orzammar with dragons,” words were tumbling out of him now. His heart skipped several beats when Fenris pinched one of his nerves. “He turned the Free Marches into slave states. He’s—collecting the old elven orbs of power. He has three of them. He…he….” He choked on a dry sob, feeling Fenris touch his esophagus. “The old Templar—Samson from Kirkwall—he commands the red Templars. Cal-Calpernia commanded the mages. But--he has her imprisoned in the Western Approach now.”

“Imprisoned?”

“He used her as a vessel for power—meant to use her for the Well of Sorrows but the witch got there first. So he im-im-imprisoned Calpernia at the old Warden Keep.”

“The witch?” Zevran asked sharply.

“I don’t know her name," the magister choked out as Fenris brushed one of his nerves again, causing an involuntary spasm of pain down his side that made him cry out. "Some woman from the Korcari Wilds. She knew about the Well and the eluvians—she went to the Temple of Mythal, convincing the Empress of Orlais that there could be answers there.”

“Lady Morrigan,” Josephine mused. “She served as occult adviser to Empress Celene.”

The magister cried out again. His eyes were streaming tears. “I don’t know. I really don’t know! Calpernia is at Griffin Wing Keep—he was going to use her—and then he found out she was saving slaves. So he imprisoned her there, using her only to store power now. No one goes there—it’s guarded by the Fear demon.”

“And what do you know about Redcliffe?” Josephine demanded.

The magister shook, feeling Fenris’ ghostly fingers _touch_ the back of his eyeball. “The Nightingale escaped. She killed Magister Alexius and freed the other members of the Inquisition. That’s all anyone knows. I had word only two weeks ago. They’re in the palace. The letters.”

“Are there slaves there?” Josephine asked.

The magister half-sobbed, spittle covering his lips and dripping onto his exquisite robes. “Yes,” he answered, screwing his eyes shut. 

“I see. Thank you,” said Josephine, the picture of her old self, all smiles and politeness. She nodded to Fenris and he withdrew his hand from the magister.

The man sagged. “Am I….can…I….go?”

Josephine touched his chin, tilting his head up to hers. “Oh yes. You are free to go.” 

And she slashed his throat. He slumped forward, choking, bleeding out all over her boots. When she looked up again, she found Fenris’ eyes locked on her. The dark green was smoldering, burning into her. There was something heavy in them, dragging her in. Josephine swallowed hard, unconsciously biting her lower lip. He watched, pinned to—

“So, going to the palace?” Oghren said. Rather loudly.

Josephine started a little and cleared her throat. “Yes. Yes—let’s…yes.”

 

 

 

The palace only had a few remaining guards, who were dispatched quickly. Only then did Josephine allow everyone to separate. Aveline, Amarin, Krem and Rocky went to go find the slaves. Skinner, Zevran and Isabela went to find the magister’s chambers so they could take all his correspondence. Dalish, Oghren and Grim found the kitchens full of food and started cooking.

Josephine found herself alone with the lanky, rugged elf. 

“We should search for a wine cellar,” he said, eyes still burning out at her.

“Y-yes,” Josephine agreed softly.

They found the library instead. Fenris shoved her up against the stacks of books. “You are…”

Josephine shuddered and grabbed his shirt, pulling him down to her. The kiss was like a shock, both of them struggling for control. Until Fenris grabbed her by her upper arms and pinned her to a shelf. 

“Your tattoos—“ Josephine breathed, hesitating to touch him.

“Yes—I don’t care,” he told her, dragging her scarves off. 

She got to work, opening his belt and sliding her palm inside. He shuddered, fingers unlacing her armored shirt and taking a breast in hand as his other pushed her trousers down her thighs. She was hot, wet inbetween them. Her arousal mixed with the smell of blood and viscera that still clung to her clothes. It was a heady scent, intoxicating. He buried his nose at her throat, biting into her skin and feeling her fingernails bite into his back. She choked back a sound as his fingers slid between her thighs, working her until she was trembling against him, until she throbbed and arched her spine against the bookcases. He swallowed her moan, covering her mouth with his own. She clung to him as she came back down and he grabbed her up, pulling her over to a small reading table. He pushed her down onto it. She grabbed onto the edge of the table, hips hitching into his touch as he spread her slickness again, pumping two fingers inside of her. She writhed, thighs opening up to him. The elf grabbed onto her hip with one hand, guiding himself into her with the other. The both stifled moans into soft sighs. The clutch of her was tight and hot and soft. He planted his palms on either side of her head, leaning down to give her a surprisingly gentle kiss on the side of her neck as he sheathed himself fully within her. Her eyes closed, moaning softly. He moved in small thrusts, shifting inside of her a little, at first. And then longer, harder, feeling her form to him, accept him. He bit her shoulder and she grabbed onto one of his hands, curling their fingers together. He moved the other hand to her hip, holding her still and slamming inside of her. He felt her muscles shake, felt the grip of her tighten. His cock throbbed, swelling. She clutched and he pulsed inside of her, groaning softly. He rested his head next to hers, placing his free hand on her back. 

“Are you all right?” he murmured.

“Yes,” she breathed. 

When he gently eased out of her and they cleaned up, fixing their clothes, Fenris hesitated before looking at her. “I…that’s not usually something I would have…”

Josephine touched his shirt. “If I hadn’t wanted you to, I wouldn’t have let you. Understand?”

He nodded.

“Good. We will rest here tonight then. We’ll send the others to get the slaves from the ships and the weapons from the City Guard building. We’ll have a good meal for the first time in ages and then we’ll see if you’re as good as Isabela says you are.”

That made Fenris’ dark eyes narrow, half-smirking. 

-  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real life stuff has had me in a rut lately. I haven't been able to write for any of my on-going stories and such. And then I sat down tonight and wrote this in one sitting. I'm hoping this will help me get my brain working again. 
> 
> Thank you for the kind messages some folks left on my other pieces. My sister is doing better now. And where I worked got a new manager who now knows I was fired for BS reasons (office politics are bullshit)--so there's a rumor that I may get hired back. So. Eyes, fingers and toes crossed. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, if you've stuck with me. This has been really neat to write and think about for me.


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